I had a feeling, though, that whatever had happened between Jacob Collins and Pack Simmons wasn’t anything like a scab. It was probably more akin to a scar that had never healed properly. I should definitely leave it alone...but leaving things alone was definitely not one of my virtues (those virtues were being a good cook...and having a great ass).
Jacob peeled and began chopping cloves of garlic on a wooden cutting board. “My grandma is the big cook, my mom is just along for the ride most of the time. Gram really wanted her daughter to learn all of the recipes that she had learned from her own mom...is this enough garlic? It’s approximately three cloves.”
Approximately? I held in a laugh as I peeked around his shoulder at the little pile of garlic, “It’s for garlic bread, so measure with your heart. The more garlic the better.”
Jacob looked down at me with a raised eyebrow, “You sound like my gram with her ‘a pinch of this and a dash of that.’ What’s so wrong with a set number of an ingredient, isn’t that what cooking is all about?”
I grabbed an extra knife and came to stand shoulder to shoulder with him at the counter. A quick glance at the couch showed Matteo still dozing and Aria and Theo in the midst of what looked like a serious conversation. Theo, probably feeling my eyes, glanced up at me and seeing that Jacob and I were standing side by side, his expression became unreadable and he turned to give Aria his full attention again. That was weird. The oldest Alpha in the pack definitely had a ton of hang-ups about me, which I didn’t quite understand. Sure he was fifteen years older than I was, but age gaps in alpha packs weren’t that incredibly uncommon. In fact, most packs had an alpha that was quite a bit older when they accepted an omega, and it wasn’t like it bothered me. He’d been my savior when I was a child, but now when he looked at me, I felt my skin tingle and buzz under his unwavering blue-eyed gaze. I definitely couldn’t look at him as just the one-dimensional prince charming that I’d created out of my memories anymore. So, was it too much to ask that he not look at me like the scared little girl in his memories anymore either?
“Tibby?” Jacob bumped me gently with his elbow, and I realized that I had never answered his question.
“Sorry, mind bunnies,” I gave my forehead a poke and began to help him chop garlic, “While it’s true you should probably follow the recipe for something—for the most part—you should really cook food to your tastes. For example, my best friend, Ellie, loves spicy food, and I can take it or leave it, but I tend to make her food spicier because she likes it. The only thing that is really rigid about measurements is baking.”
“Remind me to hang around when you bake,” Jacob murmured as he focused way too hard on his hands, slicing the garlic in a way that was so painstakingly slow that I wanted to take the knife out of his hands and finish his portion for him, but I refrained. I was sure the burly FBI agent wouldn’t appreciate me telling him how to chop things.
Instead, all I said was: “I make a mean snickerdoodle cookie.” As I continued to out chop him, putting all of the garlic I finished chopping into a little glass bowl. Finally, after a few minutes, we’d collectively chopped enough together to fill the bowl with a healthy pile of garlic.
“Next time, show me how you chop that fast,” Jacob seemed entranced with how fast my fingers were moving...and maybe he wouldn’t have minded me telling him how to do something. I wondered just how far that extended.
I grinned at him and turned to pull the filet off of the burner. It was a little darker than I’d like because I’d gotten distracted, but it would still taste delicious. Grabbing a cast iron skillet that I’d seasoned myself last night, I arranged all of the breaded filets inside of it and covered them with thick slices of mozzarella cheese. All of that was popped into the oven, and by the time I’d turned Jacob had spread butter and garlic thickly on the pieces of french bread, much to my delight.
He takes initiative, I noted, a check in the ‘good’ box for the stern FBI agent.
Jacob held the baking sheet with the buttered bread out to me, “Is this alright?” He looked nervous, and it made my girly little heart give a pitter-patter at how cute that was.
“Perfect,” I assured him, taking the tray and putting it in the oven underneath the pan of chicken and closing it. Before I forgot, I set two separate timers on my phone and dumped a box of bowtie pasta in the now boiling water.
I had maybe ten minutes before I needed to check on the food, and I wanted to spend those curled up with Matteo. He was only half awake when I walked back to the couch, but when his arms shot out and pulled me down, I still let out a little squeal and flopped into his muscular chest. He was the kind of warm you could only get from a really good nap, and I pressed my cold fingers to the skin where his shirt met his collar bone.
“That’s cold.” He grumbled into my side.
I grinned, I wasn’t done yet. I curled my legs up and slid my icy toes underneath his shirt, and he yelped sitting up, and gave me a grumpy glare, “I guess I’m awake now. Did you stick those in the freezer before coming out here? Your toes are like ice.”
“Nope, I just have shitty blood circulation,” I replied primly. “Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes, anyway.”
Matteo continued to grumble under his breath, but I could tell there was no real anger behind his words, especially when he snagged my feet and dragged them into his lap. He then proceeded to give me the most heavenly foot rub that I’d ever received...which, now that I think about it, was the only foot rub I’d ever received. It was so nice that I nearly let out an embarrassing moan, and had to nibble on my lower lip to keep it from coming out.
Matteo definitely knew what he was doing because his sleepy, grumpy expression quickly morphed into that of a mischievous little imp as he dug his knuckle into the bottom of my feet. The moan that I’d been desperately trying to hold back rippled out of my lips...right as Jacob sat down on the other end of the couch.
We all sat in silence for a minute, my face flaming, “I am so sorry, Jacob, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
I was sure that this was going to end the comfortable coexistence that we’d had going on today, but I was even more confused when all four of the people around me burst into laughter, even Jacob.
I crossed my arms over my chest, “Why is everyone laughing at me?”I’m going to burn their food tonight if they keep laughing, I promised myself as the three alphas and beta fought to get ahold of themselves.
“Sorry, Little Bit,” Theo hugged Aria closer to him, and she wiped tears from her eyes. “We don’t mean to laugh at you, but Matteo started massaging your feet with the express intention of making you moan. Matteo’s massages are infamous, honestly, I’m surprised you managed to keep it together for as long as you did.”
I glared at Matteo who grinned cheekily at me.“Asshole,” I grumbled and lifted my cold foot to tap the side of his face. I should have known that my feet were not going to gross the alpha out. Matteo grabbed my lifted foot and pressed a kiss to the soft skin in the center of my foot.
“Oh no, are you one of those foot fetish guys?” I laughed as he grazed his teeth along the sensitive skin and tickled me. I pulled my foot from his grasp and tucked them safely underneath myself and away from his lips and teeth... not that I minded it too much, but he’d never get me to readily admit that.
Matteo shook his head, “I think it’s more a Tibby-fetish thing, if anything.” He launched himself at me, and I squealed as he landed on me with a thud. His body was warm, and he pressed his nose into my neck, inhaling my scent deeply, “Ahh I could live here.” He muttered against my skin.
“Unfortunately,” I patted the back of his head, sliding my fingers through his silky black curls, “That’s not going to be possible since I have to go and make the alfredo sauce.”
At that moment my phone timer began to beep, and I started untangling myself from Matteo, who was acting more like an octopus rather than a grown man. Once I was free, I stood in front of the couch with my arms above my head like a gymnast and avoided his grabby hands and headed back into the kitchen to finish the rest of dinner.
