“You’re mesmerized,” he says. “How are you doing, Knox?”
“I’m fine.”
“Liar.”
I sigh, running a whisk through the sauce. It’s thickening nicely. “I’m... aware. This feels precarious. All of us in one room, with her.”
“It’s good precarious,” Eli says. He pushes off the counter and washes his hands in the sink. “Let me help you with the prep. We can get the salad started.”
We work in tandem. He washes and dries the mixed greens; I toast walnuts in a dry pan until they smell nutty and sweet.
The rhythm of cooking soothes me, the mechanical actions calming my racing heart. This is my domain. I know food. I know flavors.
I do not know how to navigate a relationship with three men and one woman, but I can roast a duck to perfection.
I’m just tossing the walnuts into the salad when Fallon and Amber return.
She looks more relaxed now, her shoulders less tight. She walks over to the island, sitting on one of the high stools.
“This place is incredible,” she says, looking around at the high ceilings and the industrial beams. “It’s so... spacious. And warm.”
“We like it,” Fallon says, leaning against the fridge. “It took a lot of work to get it livable. When we bought it, it was just a shell.”
“It has a great vibe,” she agrees. She looks at us, then back at the house. “Was the plan always to live under one roof? I mean, as a pack?”
“Oui,”I say, seasoning the salad with salt and pepper. “Even in Portland, we lived together. It’s... easier.”
She swirls her wine in her glass, watching the liquid climb the sides. “So, for a pack that was determined not to break their rule—to not form emotional attachments—you sure set yourselves up for failure, didn’t you? How were you supposed to live? Everyone has their own room with their own mate? How was that going to work?”
I pause, the salad tongs hovering in mid-air. I look at Eli. He looks at Fallon.
Then I laugh. It’s a short, surprised sound.
“We didn’t think of that,” I admit. “We were thinking of rent efficiency and shared utility bills.”
“Also,” Fallon adds, “we were so young when we first moved in together. We weren’t exactly known for our foresight.”
Amber smiles, and this time it reaches her eyes. “Well, it worked out. The house is beautiful.”
“It’s home,” Eli says simply.
I check the oven timer. “The food will be ready in about half an hour. The reduction needs to simmer for a bit.”
“Good,” Fallon says. He looks at Amber. “We should talk. Get comfortable before we try to eat.”
He gestures to the living area.
We move away from the kitchen, the warmth of the ovens fading as we step into the cooler living space. Eli walks over to the sound system, tapping his phone against the receiver.
Soft jazz fills the room, a steady, low bass that doesn’t intrude.
Amber stands near the sofa, looking uncertain where to sit. I walk past her, intending to go to the armchair, but I stop.
She smells like vanilla and the cold night air, mixed with the scent of my kitchen on her clothes.
“You look beautiful tonight, Amber,” I say. The words come out stiffer than I intend, but they are true.
She looks up, startled. Her cheeks pink. “Thank you, Knox.”
