The corner of his mouth twitches. “You okay? It’s pretty early.”
“I’ve been in bed for like three days straight,” I blurt out. Then realize that I’m basically referencing the fact that I’ve been having sex with Atticus for two days straight. “Uh…I mean…I’m not really tired.”
“Fair enough,” he replies, a slight sparkle of amusement in his gaze. “Well, this is about midday for me, considering how early I usually get up. But I assume we’re the only ones awake.”
“…Right.”
He considers this for a moment, then steps back from the doorway in what might be an invitation.
“I was about to make breakfast,” he says. “Had an early morning on the water today. You’re welcome to join me.”
My stomach, the traitor, chooses this exact moment to growl loud enough to echo off the walls.
Judah’s almost-smile spreads into something approaching genuine amusement. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
The kitchen is warm in a way that has nothing to do with temperature. Copper pots hang from a rack above the center island, their surfaces reflecting the soft glow of the light fixture overhead. The countertops are worn butcher block, scarred from decades of meal prep, and there’s a collection of mismatched ceramic jars near the stove that probably contain flour and sugar and whatever else normal families keep in their kitchens.
I wouldn’t know. The closest thing to home cooking I experienced growing up was microwave meals in the studioapartment I shared with Victoria while we hustled for auditions. After that, it’s just a blur of craft services’ tables.
Judah moves to the refrigerator with the ease of someone who’s navigated this space a thousand times. He pulls out eggs, butter, a block of cheese, sets them on the counter with methodical precision.
“Omelets okay?”
“Oh, let me.” The words burst out before I can stop them, and I’m already moving toward the stove, hands reaching for the carton of eggs. “I make the best omelets. Seriously. It’s like, one of three domestic skills I possess, and I refuse to let this opportunity go to waste.”
Judah blinks at me, clearly not expecting a celebrity house guest to volunteer for kitchen duty. But he steps aside, gesturing toward the stove with something that might be amusement.
“Sure, knock yourself out.”
“Sit,” I tell Judah, nodding toward the kitchen table. “Relax. You’re about to experience a culinary spectacle. Just don’t ask me to make literally anything else.”
He snorts but complies, settling into a chair that groans slightly under his weight. Those broad shoulders look even broader in the kitchen light, and I have to force myself to focus on the eggs instead of cataloging the way his forearms flex when he crosses them over his chest.
You’re still in a heat haze,I remind myself firmly.You’re not actually attracted to every alpha in a five-mile radius.
Especially one who already has a mate.
“I really want to apologize,” I say, keeping my eyes on the omelet as I add cheese and a handful of diced vegetables I found in a container in the fridge. “For showing up on your doorstep without any warning. I’ve recently been encouraged to consider how my actions affect other people. I was being selfish by imposing on you without even asking first.”
The silence that follows is weighted. I can feel Judah’s gaze on my back, but I can’t bring myself to look at his expression.
“You needed a place to stay,” he says finally. His voice is carefully neutral. “I offered. No apology necessary.”
“Still.” I flip the omelet with a satisfyingthwack, pleased when it doesn’t fall apart. “It was presumptuous. And inconsiderate. You have your own life, your own responsibilities. The last thing you needed was a omega in heat crashing through your front door.”
“It’s fine, really.”
I know I should leave it there, but I just can’t help myself. “Hopefully, your omega is around before I leave, so I can apologize to him as well.”
A pause. “I’m sure he’d say the same thing I am. Apology accepted.”
“Okay, great.”
I slide the finished omelet onto a plate and carry it to the table, setting it in front of him with what I hope is a flourish rather than an awkward lurch. He looks down at the food, then up at me, something unreadable moving behind those bright blue eyes.
“You didn’t have to do this.”
“I wanted to.” I pull out the chair across from him and sit, tucking my feet up beneath me. “Consider it a small repayment for your hospitality.”
