Three Weeks Later
“Seventeen thousand preorders, Claire. In one week. Do you know how huge this is? It’s gargantuan!” Katie’s voice is tinny through the speakerphone propped against the desk lamp, but the excitement comes through at full volume. I’m in my new office that we’ve set up in my Alphas’ house. We’ve officially all moved into my home, and theirs has turned into our business property.
“Holy crap!” I’m gasping for air, staring at my three men around my desk, their eyes huge from the news. Bookshelves filled with cookbooks line the walls.
“Right!” Katie says, then laughs.
I lean back in my chair, grinning at the ceiling, unable to believe this. The morning light is pouring through the window, and Damien is lounging on the windowsill beside my desk, his tail swishing against my notebook, watching a sparrow on the fence.
“And the publisher is loving your new blog,” Katie says. “Such a good idea to make it personal and about cooking for your family, your pack.”
“I love it too. Brainstormed it with the guys,” I say.
“Totally Claire’s idea,” Brody calls out, and Corey playfully nudges him aside.
The blog post wasn’t planned. Last Wednesday at midnight, unable to sleep, I sat at this desk and wrote about Nana. How she’d press her thumb into dough and know by feel alone whether it needed more time. I wrote about inheriting her binder and opening it for the first time after she passed and finding, tucked between the honey cake recipe and the chowder, a handwritten note that saidCook for the people who stay. The ones who leave were never hungry for what you’re offering.
I photographed the note. Included the recipe for her brown butter cookies, the ones she baked one-handed the night my mother was born. And the post went viral. We’re not talking the angry, pile-on viral I’d already experienced, but the kind where comments are full of people posting photos of their own grandmothers’ recipes and their own stories of kitchens that smelled of love before they understood what love was.
“The comments are so moving,” Katie says, and her voice has softened. “People are tagging their mothers. Their sisters. One woman said she called her grandmother for the first time in three years after reading it. That’s what your writing does, Claire, and that’s why it’s selling so well.”
My throat tightens. I press my fingers to my eyes behind my glasses and breathe. My Alphas surround me in my chair, each touching me, closing in, kissing me, and my chest is so full. I never knew it was possible to feel this loved.
Louis never had me experiencing such emotions. And why I was so happy to hear this morning that his bail hearing was denied. His lawyer is trying to negotiate, but the security footageis damning. Breaking and entering, battery, and the judge isn’t budging. Louis is sitting in a cell with a court date he’s going to lose, I’m convinced. And Trudy’s restraining order against Kristian is active. His court date is next month.
“Okay, so I’ll send over everything, sweetie,” Katie says, “but wanted to personally let you know that your preorder is killing it. Now just to wait for the publisher to finish edits. But I gotta go. Speak soon.”
“Bye,” I say and hang up.
The doorbell suddenly rings. Damien’s head snaps toward the sound, his body tensing, and he launches off the windowsill and thunders into the hallway with the urgency of a cat who must approve all visitors before they’re granted entry.
I’m on my feet, but the guys are already heading toward the entry, and Brody opens the door.
The man on the porch is shorter than Jakob by a few inches. Leaner, with the same blond curls cropped close to his skull, and hazel eyes that carry the same depth behind thick-framed glasses. His skin is tanned, his jawline softer than Jakob’s, and he’s wearing a rumpled linen shirt over dark jeans that are creased. Damn, he looks just like Jakob. He’s got an overstuffed backpack and a huge suitcase beside him.
He grins. Wide, brilliant, and adorable. “Hey, bro.”
“Eli, you’re finally here.” He steps forward, wraps his arms around his brother, and holds on, while Eli laughs.
I stand in the hallway, watching them in my doorway, and my chest aches at seeing their reunion.
When they break apart, Eli wipes his eyes, grins, and then spots me over Jakob’s shoulder.
“You must be Claire.” He extends his hand. His accent is thicker than Jakob’s, the vowels rounder, every syllable distinctly Kiwi. “Eli. I’ve heard so much about you that I could write your biography.”
“All good things, I hope.” I can’t help but giggle.
Jakob’s smiling, and I squeeze his arm as I step past him because seeing this man happy is a gift I didn’t know I needed until it was in front of me. I give Eli a huge hug. “Welcome to our home. It’s amazing to finally meet you.”
He embraces me, and his scent is sweet like caramel and apples.
“Come, let’s head inside,” Jakob states. “I’ll grab your bags.”
We all step back and head into the living room, Corey and Brody hugging Eli, chatting about how great it is to see him again, as it’s been years since he last visited them.
Trudy emerges in the kitchen at the same time, her dark hair tied back in a ponytail, wearing jeans and a loose violet T-shirt. She’s gained a bit of weight on her thin frame in the past week, along with color in her cheeks and steadiness in her hands.
She turns, her gaze locked on Eli. “Trudy, this is my brother. And, Eli, this is Trudy, your new housemate,” Jakob says.
