"Think that’s good?" she asked, her voice soft and intimate.
"Perfect," I murmured, my breath disturbing a few loose strands of her hair. "We’ll definitely have flawless soufflés this time."
Dixon watched us with hooded eyes from his perch on the counter, his fingers tapping an unconscious rhythm against his thigh. Ryder, likewise, had either finished washing fruit or abandoned the task. He was turned towards us, hands in his pocket, gaze taking in the way Tessa and I worked together. The kitchen felt smaller suddenly, charged with an energy that had nothing to do with our culinary endeavors. Our heady, mingling scents threatened to send us all over the edge.
I reluctantly stepped back, giving Tessa space so we’d focus on the hot, waiting oven versus the building heat between all our bodies. The loss of contact left me oddly bereft, like I'd been unplugged from a power source. Ridiculous how much I needed her now.
A meow made us all turn towards the arched kitchen entrance. Tray strode into view with Josie cradled in his arms. He grinned at us all. “Finished?”
“No,” I arched an eyebrow. “You’re just in time to butter and sugar the ramekins.”
“Damn,” he breathed out. “A few minutes early.”
Josie meowed, stretched, and then pushed away from Tray’s body.She turned midair as she fell towards the floor, landing deftly on her feet. Tessa smiled affectionately, and raced over, dropping to the kitchen floor.
“Where have you been, silly cat?” She pulled Josie, who protested, into her lap. “Don’t you dare fuss, ‘Miss disappears inside the mansion and makes us all play hide and seek trying to find you’. We used to be thick as thieves, now you can’t be bothered with me.”
“She was down in the studio this time,” Tray leaned over, scratched between Josie’s ears and then sighed. “Guess I’ll go wash my hands and slave over a hot stove.”
“You literally just have to prep a few dishes, Tray,” I countered, “not cook a five-course meal for fifty.”
“All day. All night. Standing on my poor, tired feet. Cooking for you ungrateful, miserable, mouths,” he continued, undeterred.
I rolled my eyes but couldn't help smiling. Tray, with his flare for the dramatic—whether it be words or clothes or the way he absolutely slaughtered the drums—was unapologetically himself. He always had been.
"Butter. Sugar. Ramekins. Now," I ordered jokingly. This was just the familiar push and pull of our pack dynamic, something I cherished more than ever.
"Yes, Head Chef!" Tray mocked, giving me an exaggerated salute before sauntering over to the refrigerator.
Tessa remained on the floor with Josie, who had settled and was now purring contentedly in her lap. The sound floated into the space, a gentle undercurrent to our louder banter. Our home was a calm sort of chaos now. Our pack’s soundtrack was soothing and joyous.
No drug-fueled parties with blasting music, which I tried desperately to enjoy, even while‘sinner, sinner, sinner’repeated inside my head. The voice was always my mother’s or father’s. It always made me feel small and flawed.
No mindless encounters with half-dressed groupies high on our fame. Me trying to enjoy the casual, trying to force a connection that could never exist.
No getting kicked out of hotels… which usually was a relief to me, if I’m honest.
I fucking loved my life these days.
We all stareddown at the concave ‘should be’ soufflés.
“I don’t get it. We did everything right.” Tessa frowned.
"I'm not sure," I admitted, studying the sad, fallen desserts. I picked up the left tablet, scanning the recipe’s steps. "We folded carefully. The egg whites were stiff enough..."
“Yeah, they were,” Tray said quickly, not wanting to miss his opportunity. “I know stiff enough when I see it.” He grinned, dimples sinking, obviously very pleased with himself.
I could have reminded him he wasn’t even in the kitchen when the eggs whites were whipped up, but he looked too self-satisfied.
"Maybe our oven runs hot," Ryder suggested, poking at one of the deflated soufflés with his spoon.
Dixon snorted. “Or maybe soufflés are just assholes that refuse to cooperate with mere mortals.”
Tessa laughed, the sound snaking through my body and making me vibrate with need.
"I think Dixon's right. These things are temperamental little divas." She scooped a bite from her ramekin and popped it into her mouth. She had to part her lips and breathe out quickly in little pants to diffuse the heat. "Still tastes amazing though,” she mumbled around the molten dessert.
“All I know,” Dixon moved closer to Tessa, lifting a hand and pushing it beneath her hair to curl around the back of her neck, “is the soufflés are a shit-show, and I’m expecting that second dessert any minute now.”
