Beck clears his throat, clearly sensing the tension in the room and eager to redirect it. He steps closer to Tansy with an easy smile. “Hey, Tansy. This is Mariah. She’s Cass’s physical therapist.” He leans in, smiling widely. “She’s going to kick his ass into gear.”
Tansy lets out a little laugh before turning to Mariah. She straightens immediately, posture shifting in a way that speaks to years of careful training. She offers a polite smile and a small nod. “It’s very nice to meet you,” she says warmly, voice measured and respectful, like she’s greeting someone at a formal function instead of in the middle of our living room.
Mariah smiles back warmly. “It’s nice to meet you, too,” she says, clearly charmed.
Tansy turns back to Beck and leans in, whispering, “I’ll be right back. I’m going to grab something to eat.”
Grason shifts immediately. “Do you want your usual?” he asks as she heads toward the kitchen.
“I’ve got it,” she chirps, but he follows anyway.
A sharp, possessive pang of jealousy hits me so hard it almost staggers me.
Grason is such a lucky bastard. I wish I was in charge of Tansy’s well-being instead of dealing with the fucking business day in and day out.
But I’d rather bite my tongue off than complain about it.
After all, this is my punishment, and I’ll fucking take it until Cass is ready to step back in.
Tansy passes me first, a swirl of honeyed tea leaves swirling in her wake. Then Grason. My body reacts, and I reach out and grab his arm, stopping the alpha.
“I can feed her,” I say. My voice stays even. “I haven’t eaten yet either.”
Grason stops, but Tansy doesn’t. She keeps walking.
“It’s my job to feed her,” Grason says simply, before glancing back at Cass.
Our pack alpha is looking up at the therapist, listening closely as she explains the first phase of his rehab. He nods along while Beck asks a million questions.
“Iknow, but,” I drop my voice to a whisper, “I haven’t had a chance to really be alone with her yet. I’ve been working crazy hours since she got here, and I’m dying to have a few minutes alone with her. Please.”
“You?” Grason stares at me like I’m sprouting wings. “You don’t cook.”
“Yeah, but I can,” I say.
“You swore you’d never cook again,” he says flatly.
“That was years ago,” I say.
“That was afire hazard,” he shoots back. “You burned yourself and almost took the kitchen with you.”
“I remember,” I say dryly.
Grason opens his mouth, closes it, then glances back at Cass for backup.
But the pack alpha is still focused on the therapist, nodding along while Beck fires off question after question, completely unaware this conversation is happening.
Grason studies my face, clearly torn between concern for the kitchen and understanding the ask.
“What are you planning to make?” he asks cautiously.
“Something simple,” I say. “No grease.”
He squints. “If the smoke alarm goes off?—”
“It won’t.”
“If I smell burning?—”
