And a third.
“My goodness, Walker,” I say after swallowing. “Who taught you to cook like this?”
He smiles, genuinely smiles, and it lights up his normally stoic features. I’m stunned for a moment, like a kid looking up at the bright sun for the very first time.
I wish he smiled more often. It looks beautiful on his face.
“My mother,” he says as he slices the edge of his fork into the salmon on his plate. “She was always in the kitchen growing up. Moved much too fast for me to pick up much, but I saw how much she enjoyed it, and I learned to cultivate a love for it on my own as I grew.”
I dig my fork into the mashed sweet potatoes. “This looked so good on the plate that I debated on whether or not to even take that first bite.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re eating. I read somewhere that Omegas in preheat need omega-3 fatty acids to help keep their hormones stable.”
He… what?
I whip my eyes up to meet his, but he’s already digging into his food. I stare at him while he takes bite after bite, washing it down with the wine every once in a while.
“Where did you read that?” I ask.
His gaze flickers to me. “Just in some research I did when trying to figure out the menu for tonight. Hope that’s okay.”
I blink. “You researched what was good for my preheat before cooking?”
He cants his head to the side. “Yes? Is… that a problem?”
I feel tears brewing behind my eyes and I quickly blink them away. I’m not sure anyone has ever done anything so sweet for me. Outside of my dancing in the kitchen with Eli. And my lovely morning picnic in the sunrise with Knox.
He’s so kind, taking me into consideration like that. Not judging. Not champing at the bit to fulfill my heat. There’s been no talk of knots or any pressure to have sex at any turn with any of them.
I really like that.
“Lia?” Walker asks, piercing through my thoughts. “You all right?”
“Yeah, yeah,” I say as I dig back into my food just for something to turn my attention toward, “just… thinking.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I shake my head and shrug, but my lips betray me instead of wrapping around the bite of salmon on my fork. “My former pack never treated me this way. They sort of expected me to bend to their will. It’s just… nice. Not being pressured into things. Being taken into consideration. I can see why packs would appeal to most Omegas now.”
There isn’t much conversation that flows after that. Between our forks scraping against the plates and my mind jumbled with so many things, I can’t really land on anything to say. The silence is comfortable, though. I don’t feel this weird need to fill it. I don’t feel as if I’m burdening him in any way.
I can’t remember the last time I didn’t feel like a burden.
Except with Knox.
And Eli.
Pack.
I shove that instinctual voice into my belly and hum as I take another bite of the salmon. I can’t help but bebop in my seat a little bit, doing my little happy dance. When food is that good, I can’t help but move.
I’ve always been that way. Whether it’s baked goods I’ve outdone myself on or a meal my own mother threw down in the kitchen when I was growing up, good food sometimes surpasses words.
It’s Walker’s snicker that pulls my attention back to him.
“Enjoying the food?” he asks.
I take a sip of my wine. “You should smile more often.”
