“What can I help with?” the sweet omega asks, scanning the messy kitchen. There are mixing bowls, egg shells, and a dusting of sugar everywhere. But I always clean after we eat.
“I was just about to cut up some fruit.” I take a paring knife out of a drawer, then use it to point to the table. “If you want to sit, I’ll have everything ready in two shakes.”
Smiling widely, Beth steps up to the kitchen island. “I can cut up the fruit.” She rolls up her sleeves, making it clear that she’s determined to help prepare this meal. I know that most traditional houses have omegas who cook and clean, but I’ve been doing it for so long, it feels weird to have someone else in my kitchen. But if it makes her feel good to help, then who am I to tell her no?
“Let me find you a better knife.” I reach for the drawer right in front of the omega, making her back up slightly
“A butter knife?” Beth lets out a girlie laugh as I pull the utensil out. “Really?”
“Really,” Killian cuts in, giving her a stern look. “After last night, I think it’s best if you stick to spoons for the time being.”
I give the omega a sympathetic look, not wanting to offend her, but also not wanting to hand over an actual blade. She seemed pretty deadly with that fork, and I’m not eager to find out what she can do with something pointy.
“Okay.” Beth rolls her eyes, holding her hand out to me. “A butter knife, please.” She scrunches her nose up like it’s the silliest thing ever.
Excitement and hope bubble in my chest as I hand it over.
“Thank you,” she smiles, and my heart sores.
This omega is like a completely different person—kind and sweet. A full one-eighty from yesterday. I don’t know what Killian did to her last night, but I hope he does it every night for the rest of our lives.
“I hope you like strawberries.” I drop the paring knife into the drawer, then push it shut. “We also have apples, but I think berries are better for this dish.” I take out the large container of fruit out of the fridge, then set it down in front of Beth.
“Strawberries?” The omega gasps as she examines the container. “But it’s fall.” She looks out the big window in the living room. The colorful leaves in the distance shake and rustle in the wind. It’s like a vast painting of red, orange, and yellow. “How did you get them to grow this time of year?”
“I didn’t grow them.” I smile, placing the cutting board in front of her. “I bought them at the grocery store. Someone else grew them. Probably in a greenhouse,” I add, confident she doesn’t know how a grocery store works.She’s so obviously sheltered.
“A greenhouse,” Beth repeats the word like she’s never heard it before, but she doesn’t say anything else. Instead, she turns her attention to the bright red fruit. Her finger grazes the labelacross the top. “Farm fresh,” she reads it, before popping the container open.
Okay,I think to myself.She can read. That’s good to know.
Beth leans down, inhaling the air around the strawberries deeply. Hopefully, they smell okay. They won’t be as sweet as the summer berries she’s probably used to, but they’ll be fine sprinkled with sugar.
“We also have whipped cream.” I turn and grab it and the orange juice out of the fridge.
Beth glances over her shoulder, watching me with those dark, curious eyes. “Does it always stay cold in there?” she asks, looking at the fridge.
I share a quick look with Tristan, and the alpha smiles and laugh lines crinkle around his eyes. It’s kind of fun teaching her about all the things that will make her life so much easier.
“It stays the same temperature all the time.” I step to one side. “Want to feel?”
Excitement brightens Beth’s brown eyes as she moves to me. She lifts one small hand, feeling the cool air. “That’s amazing,” she says with a little giggle, and Killian and Basil both stifle a laugh in the background. “My family doesn’t have a fridge,” she quickly adds, as if it weren’t painfully obvious.
“How did you keep things cold?” I ask, curious.
Beth lets out a little snort. “We didn’t.” She picks up her butter knife, cutting the green tops off the strawberries. She has to really push into the firm berries, but the dull blade still gets the job done. “We ate what my fathers killed, then smoked the extra meat to preserve it.”
“Now that’s how you live off the fucking land,” Tristan says, clearly impressed. He’s always loved the idea of living off the grid, but he’s got a shit green thumb. We all do. I can’t even get weeds to grow. “I bet you know how to make preserves and guta fish, too. Don’t you?” He rests his forearms against the kitchen counter, eyes firmly on Beth.
“Yes.” The omega’s cheeks go rosy, clearly flustered by his intense gaze. I don’t blame her. He is an impressive-looking alpha.
“That’s amazing,” Tristan growls deep in his chest, pushing out a slow, sexy breath.
A bashful smile consumes Beth’s face and she glances away. “It’s really not,” she says, her voice very quiet. Almost sad. “If I can do it, anyone can.”
“Nope,” I cut in, refusing to let her feel poorly of herself. “I’ve tried to filet a fish.” I place my hand on my hip, and the omega looks up at me. “It’sdefinitelya skill,” I say firmly. “By the time I was done, that poor trout was a pile of shredded bones and flesh.” I hold her gaze, letting her know that I’m not joking. “Don’t downplay it.”
Beth’s expression shifts and she stands a little taller. I get the feeling she’s not used to being praised.
