"Little more. You want it to build, not punch."
I add another splash, stir, taste on the spoon he hands me. Heat blooms across my tongue, spreading slow, settling into a glow rather than a burn.
"Good," I say.
"Yeah?" He comes over, tastes from the same spoon, and his eyes light up. "Oh, that's perfect. That's going to destroy people. I love it."
"Is destroying people the goal?"
"For this one? Absolutely." He grins at me, bright and mischievous. "Vaughn thinks he can handle spice. He cannot. This is going to be hilarious."
I find myself grinning back. "You're evil."
"Sometimes, yes."
---
By six o'clock, the mac and cheese bar is assembled on the big table in the main room.
Three bases arranged in a row: classic (sharp cheddar and gruyère, golden and bubbling), truffle (darker, richer, with actual truffle oil and parmesan), and spicy (my contribution).
Toppings in little bowls around them: bacon crumbles that Jason fried fresh, panko breadcrumbs toasted in butter, caramelized onions, fresh herbs from the windowsill garden, three kinds of extra cheese, and hot sauce for the brave.
The pack descends like they haven't eaten in weeks.
"This is incredible," Toby says through a mouthful of the truffle one, eyes half-closed in bliss. He's sitting on Knox's lap because apparently there aren't enough chairs, even though there are clearly enough chairs. Knox just grunts in agreement, already on his second bowl, one arm wrapped around Toby's waist to keep him steady.
"Ash made the spicy one," Jason announces, and I feel my face heat.
"You cook now?" Robin raises an eyebrow at me from across the table. He's got the classic, loaded with extra bacon, and there's a smear of cheese on his chin.
"I cubed cheese. Jason did everything else."
"He's being modest," Jason says, bumping his shoulder against mine. "He did the whole sauce. Picked the heat level, got the balance right. I just supervised."
"Ash. Being modest." Robin pretends to check my forehead for fever. "Are you feeling okay? Do you need to lie down? Should I call a doctor?"
"Eat your mac and cheese."
"Seriously, though." Robin's expression softens. "It's good to see you in here. Being part of things. Instead of lurking in the corner like a gargoyle."
"I don't lurk."
"You absolutely lurk. You've been lurking most of my life." But he's smiling as he says it, and there's relief in his eyes.Like he's been waiting for me to find this, to find people, to stop standing on the edges of things.
Vaughn reaches for the spicy mac and cheese, loads up a huge spoonful, and takes a confident bite.
The coughing starts almost immediately.
"Jesus Christ." He's red-faced, eyes watering, reaching for his water glass. "What the hell is in that?"
"Ghost pepper," I say mildly. "And habanero. And cayenne."
"Why would you—" More coughing. "Why?"
"You said you could handle spice."
"I said I liked spice! I didn't say—" He breaks off to chug water, which only makes it worse. Rookie mistake.
