“You won’t.”
“If Beck has to clean the ceiling?—”
“I’ll clean it myself,” I grit out, starting to lose my patience.
Grason exhales slowly, then shakes his head. His gaze drifts toward the kitchen, then back to me as he weighs it. He knows what I’m asking isn’t unreasonable, and I seriously doubt Cass would care if I made Tansy breakfast instead of him.
“Fine,” he finally mutters. “Fine. But I’m standing nearby.”
“That’s fair,” I say.
He points a finger at me. “And if you hurt yourself, I’m never letting you hear the end of it.”
I nod once. “Deal.” Then I march off before he can change his mind, heart pounding hard against my chest.
I cut through the little hallway, only to slow when I reach the dining room, suddenly hyperaware of myself. I glance down, fingers brushing the front of my shirt, checking that the buttons are done all the way up and that it’s tucked in properly. I tug it smooth at my waist, then roll my shoulders once, steadying my breath.
Get it together, Warren.
It’s breakfast. A few quiet minutes with the most beautiful woman on Earth.
I step through the archway into the kitchen and slow to a stop. At first glance, the room looks empty. Then I notice the pantry door wide open at the far end of the room.
I move closer, peering inside.
The pantry is a tiny space tucked off the side of the kitchen. It’s barely wide enough for two people, with narrow shelves lining every wall. Beck has spent an absurd amount of time organizing it. Everything is labeled, stacked neatly, and sorted by category and size. Nothing out of place.
Except Tansy.
She stands in the middle of the small room, turning slowly as she scans the shelves, fingers trailing over boxes and jars while she searches. Cass’s shirt hangs loose on her frame, hiding her gorgeous body as she shifts her weight, completely focused on finding something specific.
I clear my throat. “Looking for something?”
She startles slightly, then turns, surprise giving way to a smile when she sees me.
“Hey.” She tucks a curl back behind her ear, eyes dropping to the shelf at her side like it’s suddenly very important. “I was trying to find the honey,” she says. “I assumed it would be in here, but I can’t find it, even though everything’s so… organized.” There’s a little laugh in her voice, quiet and self-conscious. “I don’t want to mess anything up.”
“You won’t mess it up,” I say, stepping inside and nudging the door a little farther open with my shoulder. The space immediately feels smaller, warmer. Her scent is everywhere in here now, soft and sweet, and I have to curl my fingers into my palm to keep from touching her. "Beck will survive if something is moved. He may require therapy and a quiet space to grieve the disorganization, but as a pack, we will persevere."
That earns me a shy smile from the omega. She glances up at me through her lashes, then back to the shelves. “He’s very organized for someone with ADHD.”
“He is with some things,” I agree, leaning against the opposite shelf, our knees almost brushing. I’m painfully aware of how close she is, how easily I could reach out and touch her. Maybe even kiss her. “He gets hyper-focused on things, but after a few months, his attention fades, and he moves on to something else.” I snort as a memory hits me. “I wish you had been here for his closet reorganization obsession. His plan was to have brand-new drawers, racks, and color-coordinated baskets in every room in this house. He redid two, then quit.” I laugh.
Tansy’s mouth quirks, her eyes narrowed with disbelief.
“If you don’t believe me, you should see his room.” My smile grows. “It’s filled with all the projectshe never finished. He’s the most ambitious procrastinator in the world, and I fucking love him for it.”
Tansy giggles, then she looks away like she’s suddenly very interested in the labels on the shelves, and that’s when I spot the honey tucked up high.
I reach past her without thinking, slow and deliberate. The space between us disappears.
Tansy tips her head back so she can see my face, her body caged between my torso and the shelves behind her. I’m close enough to feel the warmth of her body, the faint scent of her skin, and I’m acutely aware of every inch of air I’m displacing. She stills, shoulders tight, breath shallow.
I grab the jar, then lower my arm, but I don’t move back. I hold it out to her. “Here.”
Tansy takes it from me, her fingertips brushing against mine, sending a shock straight up my arm. Her cheeks flush, and her eyes widen a little. Something about that look, vulnerable and wanting, hits me so much harder than it should.
Then she whispers, “Thank you.”
