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“You let Colby threaten him too?”

The last thing she needed was to believe she could be Clay’s mini-me and start intimidating people.

“Uh, no.” She bristled. “I like Aedan.” She cut him a glare. “I explained the shop stuff to him.”

“Oh.” I rubbed my face. “Sorry.” I dropped my hands. “My brain hasn’t caught up with me yet.”

“You never hit REM.” Clay chuckled. “You’ve got a hangover.”

“Is that a thing?” I squinted at him. “And if so, how do I get rid of it?”

“I would say get more sleep, but we both know that won’t happen. Food is the next best cure.”

“Food sounds good.” I winced. “Sorry I flaked on breakfast.”

“I’ve gotten lazy.” He blew off my apology. “I should be helping you out in the kitchen, not leaving you with groceries and a wish list.” He took my hand. “Come on, Dollface. Let’s eat.”

He shoved me into a chair at the table then served me a pile of amorphous blob pancakes.

“These look…” I angled my plate, “…delicious.”

“They’re moths,” Colby whispered in my ear. “Those are blueberries for eyes.”

That explained the sensation I was being watched by my breakfast. “Obviously.”

Obvious, if you slapped batter into the frying pan with the force of a bug splattering on the windshield.

“Actually, they’re Ace’s face.” Clay served Asa, who sat beside me. “How do you not see that?”

“The blue eyes must have thrown me off,” I said dryly. “Sorry for the confusion.”

“I considered using olives or grapes to really nail the green, but then I thought—who would eat that?”

“I thought they were turtles.” Asa studied his plate. “Or air balloons.”

I smothered a laugh as I drowned our pancakes in syrup and speared a bite heavy with blueberries.

“These are phenomenal,” I mumbled around my fork. “What recipe did you use?”

Cookbooks littered the counter, but that was nothing new. I was always on the hunt for a new favorite recipe.

“This one.” Clay tapped the side of his head. “I might be willing to share, if you’re nice to me.”

“I make no promises.” I noticed Asa watching me eat. “How is this still a thing?”

Aside from doodling in the syrup with his fork, he hadn’t done more than sip his black coffee.

“You know we’re compatible,” I continued. “What other purpose does sharing food serve?”

“He won’t get any better until you mate him.” Clay sat down with a clang of silverware. “It’s instinctual.”

Ignoring the mate comment, I considered the issue. “I won’t change on a cellular level overnight.”

Compatible today, compatible tomorrow.

“Um.” Clay shoveled eggs into his mouth until he sported chipmunk cheeks. “Mph-nft.”

“Asa?” I sliced a wedge loaded with butter and syrup, stabbed it with my fork, and held it to his lips. “Explain this to me.”