“I've never seen that thing before, or smelled anything that rich.”
“You can just ask to try it, silly. It's called crocetta and it’s like drinking lightning.”
My mouth quirked up. This felt normal, like we were standing in my kitchen. My own teasing popped out. “If I'm your mate, I don't have to ask, right? You just automatically hand over whatever you’ve got.”
A glowing sheen streaked through his eyes as he held the delicate cup above his head. “Come get it.”
This was silly. We were almost the same height. So I reached as high as he did.
I stretched up for the cup and he went on his toes. I fell against his chest, pushing up against his shoulders. His warm skin penetrated my senses as I strained a little higher. The problem with us being the same height was that I was a hair’s breadth away from his lips. I kept my eyes glued to the tiny vessel of goodness but I sensed his on my neck. The pants were next to useless when I made good on my earlier stray thought and pressed everything against him, but I also wasn’t a quitter. I hitched a leg up on his hip and when he automatically supported it, used it as leverage. He jerked beneath me as I slid up, lowering his arm just enough, his grip on the cup slack.
Scurrying across the kitchen with my prize, it hit my tongue and my face screwed up involuntarily. “It's so bitter and so smooth.”
He followed and made a move to reclaim his cup. I gripped it tighter.
“Just one more swallow.”
He huffed a laugh as I scrunched a face again before handing it back. I tried to miss when he turned the cup, to sip at the place where my lips hit. The world narrowed to the two of us in the quiet of the pre-dawn kitchen. All the new information about Declan crowded into my head and my hand raised like it wanted to do somethingstupid.
Declan eyed my hand, stepping closer until I inhaled his pine and frost scent. “An acquired taste to be sure. I-”
“Good morning, my little mates. You're up so early!” Anise walked into the kitchen, already fully dressed and ready for the day, tying on an apron as she took in the food.
Declan's face folded. “Momma, regamongina shuta?”
The music coming out of his mouth didn't stop my sudden anxiety. Were we supposed to kiss in front of her? What did mates do with each other? I couldn’t pat his head like I had earlier. I darted up to peck his lips and when I rocked back on my heels, the stunned expression on his face wasn’t very encouraging. Had I done it wrong?
Shit, I had been wasting time with Declan when I should have been plating.
Her response came in staccato, rapid-fire. I didn't know the music could ring so harshly. “Laa anya volayman d-adat haidte! And now you're being rude because it doesn't seem like you made the effort to teach your mate your language.”
Her bitter disappointment rolled on the back of my tongue. If there was anything I learned from Declan, it was the power of a well-timed joke.
“Declan’s tongue has better uses.” My mouth fell open and so did Anise’s before she started howling. Where in the seven hells did that come from?
Wiping laughing tears with her apron, she patted me on the shoulder. “Well, I can’t argue with that.”
I fidgeted, unsure where to put my hands. “I meant… I'm about to wow you with the silkiest eggs you’ve had in your entire life?”
Don't be a bother, Fallon.My Aunt’s voice dropped in when I was most nervous, despite years of battling her back.
“Even better,” she said, smiling.
“Have a seat and they will be ready in a moment.”
Anise dragged out a chair and arranged herself as if she were completely unused to sitting down. I couldn't blame her. I didn't sit in my kitchen either.
Motioning her hand in my direction, she said, “Help her.”
Declan wisely chose to set a small cup of his brew in front of her instead and sat at the table, asking about her love life of all things. Their chatter became background noise.
I poured the egg mixture into the pan, lovingly tending it and feeding it what amount of power I dared, praying it wouldn't go haywire. Time and fire sculpted the eggs into a meal. My magic only enhanced those, adjusting, encouraging.
When I whisked the cast-iron around for plating, Declan had cut and buttered the bread perfectly. I added the smoked salt in a sprinkle. Wild garlic garnish complemented the studs of red pepper in the eggs and the bright colors of the chutney on the side.
“The color looks okay?” I asked Declan, gesturingthe question with my thumb and forefinger forming a ring, my other three fingers to the sky.
“You're perfect.”
