Playing Shakespeare and Watson

Willow bit into the crispy chicken, its juices trailing down her chin. She moaned into the bite as she said, "this is so good." She is two-thirds into her meal when a weight landed unceremoniously on the opposite chair. She didn't have to look from her meal to know who is, but just to curb that small hope within her, she raised her eyes and met with seething honey-brown eyes. "You stabbed me," Lothaire growled. Willow noticed the change of clothes. He wore a leather jacket, black tee, and jeans. "Yet you are still here. Looking almost new. No harm done," Willow shrugged her shoulders as she concentrated on her meal. She really needs to know the recipe. Her mouth salivated as she thought of eating this daily. It's that good. "You stabbed me. Me. I could crush you with my bare hands," Lothaire gritted, rage bubbling inside him. Willow looked at him as if he was a fly she wanted to swat away. "And I could have used a sil