Mallory stifled a smirk. ‘I don’t mean coffee, I’m talking about women. What attracts you? You were on a date with Kit. Is she your type?’
He considered the question before he answered. ‘Not typically. I don’t really have a type.’
‘Blonde,’ said a voice from the doorway. ‘Sleek. Well-dressed. Height isn’t an issue but strength and strong magic are both desirable.’
MacTire scowled.
Surprised, Mallory turned to see a teenage boy stifling a yawn. ‘Are you making coffee?’ he asked.
This time, MacTire’s smile was wry and there was a softness in his eyes that Mallory hadn’t seen before. ‘Does it look like I’m making coffee?’
‘I guess.’ The boy paused. ‘Can you make pancakes, too?’
‘I’m not your personal chef.’ The alpha’s voice was teasing.
‘You’re the one who gave everyone the morning off.’
‘And you’re the one who wants more independence. Why don’tyoucookuspancakes?’
The boy thought about it then shrugged. ‘Okay.’ He ambled over to the marble-topped island and started looking for a pan.
‘Ms Nash, this is Nicholas,’ MacTire said. ‘My nephew.’
Mallory had suspected as much; MacTire’s sister and her husband had been killed in an accident and their son, still in his mid-teens, was now living with MacTire. She’d heard they’d had a rocky start but that things were going better now. It appeared that the gossip mill had been correct.
‘Hi, Nicholas,’ she said. ‘I’m Mallory.’
He smiled at her. ‘Call me Nick, Ms Nash.’
‘In that case, my name is Mallory. Not Ms Nash.’
MacTire frowned as he extracted three mugs from a cupboard.
‘You can call the grumpy one Alex,’ Nick went on. ‘Or,’ he added with a wink, ‘if you really want to annoy him, Sandy.’
MacTire growled.
Nick laughed. ‘Or Lex. You know, like the Superman villain, Lex Luthor.’
‘I am not a villain, Nicholas.’
His nephew only grinned.
Mallory watched while MacTire poured the coffee and Nick cracked eggs into a bowl. An impressive amount of shell ended up in the mixture. Oh dear.
‘Sugar, Ms Nash?’ MacTire asked while Nick added flour and milk. ‘Cream?’
‘A splash of milk, if you have it. Thank you.’
He handed her a cup of coffee and they both watched as Nick whisked the pancake batter then dribbled a small amount into the pan, his face etched with concentration. The first attempt went badly and the boy scowled as he scraped the burnt offering into a bin.
Mallory glanced at MacTire. It was interesting that he didn’t try to help. Quite the opposite; he remained uncharacteristically quiet.
Nick bit his lip and tried again, this time with more batter. It didn’t help; the pan was too hot and the pancake was quickly burnt again. He hissed through his teeth. ‘Alright,’ he said eventually. ‘What am I doing wrong?’
‘Less heat,’ MacTire told him. ‘It’s not a race.’
The teenager turned down the gas flame. ‘Is that better?’
