Giggling in response, Dakota happily followed his mate. “Tell me more about the trouble you got into as a pup.”
Snorting, Slate said, “Only if you promise never to tell anyone what a complete shit I was back then. Sometimes when I think back about all the crap I pulled, I’m amazed my parents still speak to me now after surviving my youth. Half of it was spent going to bed early as punishment and my poor brother spent half his youth trying to talk me out of my crazy ideas. By the way, he never did…the best he could hope for was getting me to make a few changes in the interests of protecting me from the danger that made my ideas so cool.”
“Did he get punished too?”
“Sometimes, but usually when he came up with his own ideas,” Slate said, laughing. “My mother told my father I was a bad influence on Steel the time we took her car and drove it into town so we could go to the fair.”
“Why, cause you didn’t get permission?”
Smiling broadly, Slate said, “No, though we didn’t do that either. My parents were furious because Steel was only twelve.”
“Twelve? Holy shit! Now I know why you didn’t ask.”
“Right. We knew what the answer would’ve been even though my brother could drive very well. The funny thing, it was actually my brother’s idea to drive us and, of course, I was all for it.”
“What was the big deal about the fair?”
“We heard there’d be lions and elephants and since we’d never seen any, Steel thought it’d be the only time we’d have a chance to. So off we went and had a fucking good time eating all the different foods and going on rides. We never did see any animals, but the fun we had playing the games…and winning…made up for it. You know, if it weren’t for the games, we’d have gotten away with it.”
“I don’t get it. How could games give you away?”
“Our mother was away that day and Dad was in his office with the company’s accountant so neither knew we had gone. Steel made sure we got back way before dinner so when it was time to eat, we strolled in, acting like we had just came from our bedrooms. That night, when mom walked in to say goodnight, she found my bed covered with stuffed animals…tigers, teddy bears, frogs, snakes…in awful colors. She then checked my brother’s room and found his closet chock full of them. You see, when I said we won the games we played, I mean we woneveryfreaking game they had…not once, or twice…but over and over until the car was jammed full with so many stuffed animals, they filled the back seat.”
Dakota bent over laughing, picturing Slate and Steel driving home with their treasure and sneaking it inside, never thinking it would give them away. Gasping for breath as he tried to stop, he finally stuttered, “I’m surprised you’re still alive.”
Grinning, Slate said, “Well, safe to say, we are but we were grounded for three months with extra chores…lots of extra chores.”
Leaving the forest behind, Slate led his mate up the steps to the front door, then stopped. “I think everyone is sleeping but if you want, I can go in and check first.”
Smiling at his mate’s thoughtfulness, Dakota said, “Thanks, but it doesn’t matter. I’m going to face them at some point. C’mon,” he beckoned, pulling the door open and stepping inside. Holding Slate’s hand, Dakota led them to the great room which was empty except for Jackson, sitting in a chair, reading. “Hey Jackson, sorry I left without telling you.”
Standing, Jackson’s eyes examined his brother, noting how close Slate stood to Dakota in a protective stance, their hands intertwined. “Are you all right?” he asked.
Glancing at Slate, who was smiling at him, Dakota smiled back, then looked at Jackson. “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry about lunch and dinner. We were just headed to the kitchen for something to eat.”
Waving his hand, Jackson said, “As Kieran would say, ‘no problemo’. Oracle will be cooking for the next couple of days, so go spend some time with Slate. I think it’s about time you have a break from your kitchen duties.”
Grinning, Dakota said, “Thanks, I appreciate it.” Then, he added in a low voice, “If you don’t like what she makes, I can step in again.”
Chuckling, Slate said, “Don’t worry babe, my mother makes a mean omelet and my dad can grill steaks so I think everyone will be okay for a few days.”
Jackson chimed in. “Listen to Slate, her cooking is fine…not as good as yours…but good enough. Go figure out your life.”
Nodding at his brother’s instructions, Dakota said, “Thanks, bro,” before leading his mate to the kitchen.
Slate glanced around the kitchen, impressed with the design, materials and functionality. “Did you design this?” he asked.
“Not everything. It was here when we moved in but I was able to tweak it so the flow was better. Right now, I’m adding on to the kitchen since the pack is growing. Logan is designing the new baking area with two sets of double ovens, a separate sink, more cabinets and other stuff. I also needed the extra space because Theo is learning to cook and Lizzie, Dylon’s mom, helps out so it can get crowded in here. Moving the baking over there,” he pointed, “will help prevent us from bumping elbows.”
“That sounds good,” said Slate. “Let’s see what’s available. Lots of my recipes are ones I picked up traveling to different parts of the world on business. I can use this, and this…” Slate said, rummaging around in the fridge, pulling items out and setting them on the counter. “How about some breakfast enchiladas?”
“You know how to make those?” asked Dakota doubtfully.
“I do, and they are awesome, if I do say so myself. Got the recipe from a doctor when I was in Mexico building homes for shifters. Used to make it for your brother Colton a lot when we were in Mexico and never heard him complain.”
Gesturing for his mate to begin, Dakota replied, “Confident, aren’t you? But I’m going to reserve judgment until I taste them.”
As Slate got to work, he kept Dakota entertained by telling him stories about his cooking successes and failures. After the enchiladas were in the oven, he leaned back against the counter, smiling at the vast improvement in his mate who was now giggling and teasing him about everything from his chopping techniques to the mess he’d made on the counter. Finally, the timer dinged and Slate opened the oven. With a “ta da” and a flourish, he removed his breakfast enchiladas, placing several oneach plate and, after garnishing them, said, “Bon appétit!” Then he waited.
