I glance up before I can stop myself. “Iamhappy.” The words leave my mouth too easily.
Wren blinks, like he wasn’t expecting that from me. Then his whole face softens into something so sweet it makes my stomach drop.
“Good,” he says. “I like seeing you happy.”
My griffin preens. I clear my throat and point at the counter. “We’re making tart dough first. It needs time to chill before we use it.”
Wren gives me a solemn nod. “What do we do while it chills?”
“I’m sure we’ll think of something.” I wink.
Wren’s eyes go wide, and there’s a soft smile on his lips. “There he is.”
“Who?” I look around.
“My Talon.”
Something in my chest gives a dangerous little twist. I decide not to think about it too closely.
“Come here,” I say. “Pay attention.”
“I’m always paying attention to you.”
My hands stop on the butter.
Wren realizes what he said a beat too late and blushes. Actually blushes. It starts high on his cheeks and spreads down his throat. It’s so unfairly adorable that I almost forget what I’m doing.
“I meant,” he says, clearing his throat, “in an educational capacity.”
“Of course.” I chuckle before I can stop myself.
He pokes my side. “Don’t laugh.”
I arch a brow. “Hands on the counter where I can see them, troublemaker.”
His mouth drops open. “You can’t say things like that and expect me to behave.”
“I absolutely can when you’re in my kitchen.”
“Your kitchen, huh? I thought it was Wick’s.”
I step closer until there’s only a sliver of space between us and put my hands on either side of him against the counter. “Mykitchen.”
Wren’s breath catches. His pupils blow wide, and suddenly the air between us feels syrup thick.
I’m not even trying to flirt. I don’t think I am, anyway. But Wren looks at me like he wants to climb me like a tree, and the thought goes straight to my cock.
He wets his lips. “And if I misbehave in your kitchen?”
I lean in just enough that my beard brushes his cheek. “Then I put you to work.”
Wren shivers. My griffin roars his approval. I force myself to step back before I do something reckless, like kiss him senseless against the flour bin.
“Dough,” I say roughly.
“Right.” He grips the counter and smiles at nothing. “Definitely listening. Extremely focused on dough.”
“You’re ridiculous.” I snort.
