She tugs me gently inside.
“We made sharlotka,” Noah shouts from the other room. “Elliot also cooks like a beast.”
They made sharlotka.
For me.
A Russian apple cake my grandmother used to make.
“And beef stroganoff,” someone else says and swoops over taking the flowers and bag from me. “It’s fucking amazing. Sir Elliot made sure to make it old school Russian style. I’m Callum.”
“Sir?” I echo, dazed. “Like royalty or BDSM?”
Callum nearly drops the cake laughing. “Bit of both, honestly. Sir like he’s a bossy prick who likes to spank.”
“Oh.” That’s the only word I can find.
A man built like a slab of granite with tattoos walks over. Orion, I assume. “Don’t start the sex talk until were at the table, heathen. Orion. Good to finally meet you up close.”
He shakes my hand.
His grip is firm.
Eyes sincere.
Juliet shakes her head. “Elliot and I will kill all of you if you don’t eat first. We made it from scratch.”
“I stirred a thing,” Noah says proudly, walking up. He pats my arm and pulls me into a hug. “Relax. We already love you.”
Elliot emerges.
Older. Refined.
The kind of man who carries authority like it’s a second skin.
“What do you want for a drink? Pinot noir?” he asks.
“Thank you, yes.” They know me.
“Fancy fuckers made mashed potatoes, noodles, and little crispy potato sticks.” Callum moves into the house.
I flick my eyes to Juliet. “You didn’t have to… this is…”
“A lot. Orion says. She’s a lot. Personally, we agree with your taste. Those potato straw things? Fucking divine.”
They move around the kitchen like they’ve done this a thousand times.
The banter is immediate.
Comfortable.
This is a family that loves loud.
“How did you know my favorite was potato straws?” I ask.
“We know everything,” Elliot says. “Juliet is skilled at vetting.”
The words sink in.
