Tray snorted from across the kitchen. "If that's your idea of helping, I've got some laundry that needs folding later."
"You wish," Dixon replied without heat, still focused on Tessa's hands.
“I do wish. And I want. You have to admit making the pack bed was fun last time. A total benefit of washing our own shit.” Tray goaded Dixon.
“Next time, I’m going to use the fitted sheet as your death shroud.” Dix threatened.
“Ohhh. Necrophilia role playing? I didn’t think you had that kind of imagination, Dix.” Tray walked swiftly towards where Dixon and Tessa manipulated the eggs. He leaned in close, speaking right into Dixon’s ear. “You know, there’s such a thing as post-mortem erection. I’ll be the corpse, you be the twisted mortician who has a thing for very sexy, very dead dudes.”
“Shut up, moron.” Dixon pushed him away, having to take one hand off Tessa. Still, there was no venom in his voice. Maybe a slight annoyance, yet it was still carried by an undercurrent of affection. Those two often acted like an old married couple these days.
It was… endearing. Made me love them both even more.
They’d always pushed one another’s buttons, but the tone of things was different since Tessa’s arrival. Playful teasing, which rarely resulted in anger. Dixon was open about his feelings for our pack brother, andTray… well, Tray was still being Tray. He’d never been the kind to edit himself for other people’s comfort.
“Tray, get the butter for me, will you?” I gave our youngest, precocious family member a job. That would keep his focus for exactly two seconds at least.
I set up the double boiler and measured the chocolate, adding four tablespoons of butter once Tray brought it to me. I slowly stirred and babysit the mixture as it melted and combined. The warmth of the kitchen, the casual banter, the way everyone and everything smelled—gourmand and spicy and like home—was heaven on Earth. Such a thought would have been seen as sacrilege when I was a kid. But now I knew, beyond a doubt, that peace and joy could be found anywhere when you were with the right people. As much as I loved the guys, as much as each of them was an unshakable part of me, Tessa completed things. I didn’t know how unfinished our family had been before she arrived.
"Mac, you're smiling," Ryder said, appearing at my side. "It's a good look on you."
"Am I?” I didn’t know why that surprised me. That I could be smiling without realizing it.
“Ear to ear,” Ryder leaned against the counter next to me, crossing his arms and glancing down at the slowly melting chopped chocolate.
“Guess I’m just embracing the beautiful mess, as Tessa calls it," I admitted, surprising myself with how true it was. I stirred the mix for a heartbeat, then turned my attention back to Ryder. “You don’t have a job yet,” I observed.
Ryder shot away from the counter. “Yep, I do. I’m washing raspberries.” He sauntered off, towards the vodka instead of the fruit waiting next to the sink.
“That’s not the right direction,” I called after him.
“It is if I’m going to wash fruit,” he countered, picking up a bottle. “It’s chef fuel.”
“Don’t overdo it,” I chided.
“Nope, Mac. We’re embracing the mess tonight, remember? And this mess needs one more shot of Grey Goose.” Ryder didn’t drink muchanymore, none of us did really. But we’d had enough kitchen disasters lately that a bottle of something or other typically made an appearance anytime Tessa was gung-ho to try a new dish.
I removed the inner bowl of the double boiler, setting the melted chocolate on a trivet to cool slight so it wouldn’t cook the yolks when I incorporated them.
I glanced over, finding Dixon’s large body perched on the island watching Tessa as she concentrated on whipping the egg whites. The bowl wasn’t tall enough, and the hand blender was trying to splatter foaming egg all over. Tessa’s forehead creased, and a small curl fell across her face. I walked over, that curl all my eyes could see, and I reached towards her gently, tucking the rogue hair behind her ear. Even though she was busy trying not to make a total mess, she tilted her head, letting her cheek graze my skin. That simple, brief contact sent electricity through my fingertips.
As I dropped my hand away, I couldn't help but flex it open and closed. The ghost of her always seemed to stay long after we touched. It lingered on my body, repeatedly confirming she existed. I couldn’t imagine rewinding time, and going back to the tortured, turning-feral Alpha I’d been less than half a year ago.
She was the damn cure, far more than any torturous scent-stripping at the clinic could ever be.
I took the yolks and finished prepping my part, before walking it back to Tessa. Ryder was making a big show of cleaning individual raspberries, and Tray was…
I looked around. Tray was nowhere in sight. That sly fox. He’d disappeared as soon as he thought no one would notice.
"Okay, fold the chocolate gently," Tessa looked at me, face earnest. Part of me wanted to laugh at how seriously she was taken this, but it was also so damn endearing. "Last time, I thought we did, but maybe I go even slower this time?"
"Just don't stir the shit out of it," Dixon supplied sarcastically.
“Very helpful, Dix,” I laughed and moved behind our Omega, mirroring Dixon's earlier position. I leaned into her, breathing her scentin deeply.
"Together?" I asked, waiting for her nod before wrapping my hand around hers which was already holding a silicone whisk. "We’re just trying to avoid disturbing the air you’ve already worked into the whites," I demonstrated, guiding her through the gentle motion. It was harder to manage than I was making it look. Being this close to her, our bodies pressed together, made me want to mix like a mad man, finish what we were doing, and focus instead on touching every part of her.
The folding motion becoming more fluid with each turn of her wrist beneath mine. Her body heat radiated through me, making it difficult to focus on the delicate process at hand rather than the curve of her neck so close to my lips.
