“Very,” Fallon agrees. “So, no. It’s just you, Sunshine. Three Alphas, one Omega.”
The timer in the kitchen dings, cutting through the conversation.
“Dinner,” I announce, standing up. The relief of leaving the heavy conversation and returning to the known territory of food is palpable.
I move to the kitchen, pulling the roast from the oven. The duck fat has rendered down, coating the root vegetables in a glossy sheen.
The scent of thyme and roasted meat fills the air, rich and savory. I slice the beef against the grain, the pink center exposed perfectly.
We gather around the reclaimed wood table. I serve the plates—roast, parsnips, carrots, a generous ladle of the red wine reduction sauce.
I pour Amber another glass of the pinot, topping off Eli’s and Fallon’s glasses.
We eat in relative silence for the first few minutes. The only sounds are the clink of silverware against china and the appreciative noises Eli makes.
“This is incredible, Knox,” Amber says, cutting into a carrot. “Honestly. It’s the best thing I’ve eaten in months.”
“Knox takes his food seriously,” Eli says around a mouthful of potato.
“It’s respect for the ingredients,” I say. “I’m glad you enjoy it.”
As the meal progresses, the conversation flows easier. We talk about the restaurant, about a shipment of bad fish Eli rejected last week, about the snow forecast. But I watch her.
She watches us back.
I catch her gaze on Fallon when he laughs, the way she smiles at Eli when he refills her water. But then her eyes drift tome. They dart away quickly, shyly, like she’s been caught doing something forbidden.
Her teeth catch her bottom lip, pulling the plush flesh into her mouth. She sucks on it, a nervous habit, worrying the skin.
My fork halts halfway to my mouth.
I realize, with a pang of something ugly and jealous, that I’m the only one in this room who hasn’t kissed her.
Eli had her in his car, tangled in his lap. Fallon had her by the river, her mouth red and swollen from his attention.
I have nothing but the memory of her hand in mine and a chaste brush of lips to her cheek.
I stare at her mouth. The way her lip pulls white under the pressure of her teeth. I want to be the one biting that lip. I want to be the one making her eyes dilate like that.
The need to establish my claim, to mark her as mine as Fallon and Eli have done, burns in my gut. I grip my fork until the metal bites into my palm.
“Knox?” Eli asks.
I blink, looking up.“Oui?”
“You okay? You zoned out there for a second.”
“Fine,” I say, forcing myself to cut a piece of roast. “Just thinking about the menu for next week.”
We finish the meal. I stand to clear the plates, but Amber waves me off.
“No, sit,” she says. “You cooked. I’ll help.”
“We’ll do dishes together,” I insist.
She relents, stacking the plates. We work in the kitchen, the three of us moving around one another with the ease of long practice.
Amber dries while I wash. Fallon leans against the counter, watching her.
