It’s because of the past and the way he mistreated you, my logical mind reminds me, and it’s what makes me gulp as I’m standing in the middle of the kitchen, pushing away memories of the night we had dinner together.
A dinner he’d cooked.
Something in me is so consumed by a sudden bout of sadness that it spurs me into action as I head to the fridge to search for something to cook. I could kill two birds with one stone—distract myself with cooking, while returning the favor to Brooks.
It only makes sense to do the latter. I wouldn’t want him to feel like he owes me anything, lest his mask fall off and it gets thrown in my face later on. It’s like I’m waiting for that ball to drop, despite my constant, innate need to worry about the man.
At least cooking the steaks I found in the fridge helps take the edge off, and I find myself becoming easily distractedfrom my anxiety for the man who’s out there hunting the most malicious, vile creature I’ve ever seen.
As I hum along to a nursery rhyme that’s been stuck in my head all day from when I was playing with baby Emile in his nursery room, I flip the steaks. I can’t help but let my mind wander to thoughts about Brooks, and how I’ve noticed he enjoys cooking dinner at night.
For a cold-hearted, grumpy alpha, he sure has a domesticated side to him, although I’m not sure if it’s just another act. But he’s a good cook, I’ll give him that. I’d never tasted such perfect medium-rare steaks in my life, and I can only hope to achieve the same with the ones I’m cooking now.
Meat isn’t his only specialty. Since we returned from Whittier, Brooks has been preparing dinner every night for us, and I’ve had the unique privilege of tasting every one of his delicious meals.
I frown as I take the steaks out of the pan to rest for a while before tending to the stir-fried vegetables in the other pan. Had he charmed his way through his cooking?
Or am I just unable to fight the obvious attraction I have for the alpha?
Sighing despondently, I turn the stove off and prepare two plates, setting the bigger steak aside for Brooks, along with a double serving of vegetables. I leave his plate in the microwave and take a seat at the island in the kitchen instead of sitting in the dining room by myself.
This loneliness feels like a disease, while worrying about Brooks’s safety is suffocating. The appetite I’ve been building up all day from training slowly dies, and my mind instead drifts off into a narrow void where I don’t have to think. Even if it’s for a little while.
I sigh heavily, the sound blowing through my puckered lips as I stare blankly ahead. As I lay my head onto my folded arms on the cold marble table, I close my eyes and allow silence to wash over me.
In that silence, I’m able to discover the energy of waiting. Shocked at myself, I let out a gasp just as the front door pushes open.
“Brooks…?” I let out a timid squeak, still reeling from the surprise of tapping into a singular energy within me. It was so strong, so distinct, that it was hard to miss.
It was like I was able to focus on just one singular thread that weaves along with the others to make up my being.
Was I waiting for Brooks as if my life depended on it?
That’s probably why the moment he walks into the kitchen and smiles, my appetite comes crashing back. A wave of relief washes over me when I notice that he doesn’t have a single bruise or mark on him.
I was worried for nothing.
“Hey!” Brooks greets cheerfully, rounding the table.
“You’re back early,” I point out, to which Brooks frowns.
“I’ve been gone almost four hours,” he chuckles, glancing at his wristwatch. “It’s past ten already.”
“Oh…” I frown as I get off the chair, wondering if I’d fallen asleep at the table while I was supposedly waiting. “Would you like to eat?” I ask, looking for anything else to keep my mind off what that just was, pointing at the microwave. “I left your plate in there.”
“You waited for me?” he asks from behind.
“I didn’t wait for you,” I defend as I roll my eyes at my reflection in the microwave door.
To my surprise, Brooks is already beside me, breathing hot air down my neck. “Well, since you waited, I’ll heat up our food.”
I turn around with a startled gasp, noticing that he’d brought my plate along. Dodging his proximity, I sheepishly head back to the table, unable to bring myself to look up until he returns with my plate and his.
It feels as if I’ve been caught doing something wrong, even though waiting for him shouldn’t be something I’m ashamed of. It’s just that I’m not ready to accept it when I remain suspicious of his motives.
It’s only safe to look up when he hums in satisfaction after putting a bite of steak between his lips.
“I had no idea you were a good cook,” he praises, eyes glowing with appreciation as he looks up.
