“It was a spirited debate,” Fallon adds quickly, a little too loudly. “Creative differences on the spice rub for the new pork chop special.”
I look at Eli. He’s avoiding my eyes, staring intently at a pile of diced onions. I look at Knox. He looks like he’s trying to burn a hole through the floor with his gaze.
Something is definitely wrong. And I have a terrible, sinking feeling that it’s about me.
The dream flashes in my mind again—Knox’s intensity, Fallon’s charm, Eli’s sweetness. The way Knox looked at me in the office yesterday when he thought I wasn’t paying attention.
I open my mouth to ask, to press them, but I’m terrified of the answer. What if they’re fighting because of me? What if I’m causing a rift in this pack that I barely understand?
“Right,” I say, my voice coming out a bit weak. “Well… I’ll just go put my apron on.”
“Actually,” Fallon says, pushing away from the counter, “I need to run to the hardware store. We’re out of heavy-duty cleaner for the floors, and I need to pick up some new scrub pads. Do you want to come with me? Give you a break from the onion chopping?”
I blink, surprised. “Oh. Sure?”
“Great.” He tosses the rag into the sink and grabs his coat. “Let’s go. I’ll drive.”
He’s practically ushering me out the door before I can even process the abrupt exit.
We walk out to the parking lot. It’s not snowing anymore, but the sky is a low, heavy gray. Fallon leads me over to a massive, lifted pickup truck.
It’s black, with big tires and a custom paint job that gleams even in the gloom. It looks like it could drive through a blizzard without flinching.
He opens the passenger door for me—I have to climb up to get in, the seat is so high.
I settle into the leather seat, and the door shuts with a heavy, reassuringthud. The interior smells incredible—like expensive leather, a hint of the tobacco he smokes, and the salty, fresh scent of the ocean.
It’s a masculine scent, warm and comforting, but distinctly wild compared to Eli’s sugary warmth.
Fallon climbs into the driver’s side and starts the engine. The truck rumbles to life, a deep, powerful vibration that I can feel through the seat.
He doesn’t say a word as he backs out of the spot. He reaches over to the dashboard and fiddles with the radio until a classic rock station comes on. The Rolling Stones fill the cab.
We drive in silence for a few minutes, navigating the slushy streets of Fox Hollow. I watch the town go by, my hands folded in my lap.
“Okay,” I finally say, unable to stand it anymore, “what was that about in there? I’ve never heard you guys yell like that.”
Fallon sighs, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the music. “Eli and Knox… they sometimes have these energetic arguments. About the food. About the business. They both have very strong visions. They butt heads.”
“It didn’t sound like a business argument,” I say softly.
Fallon glances over at me, then looks back at the road. “They always figure it out, Amber. They’re brothers. They fight, they yell, they move on. It’s how they function.”
I stare at his profile. The line of his jaw, the tattoos peeking out from the collar of his shirt. I want to believe him. I want to believe it’s just about spices and profit margins.
But I remember the way the room went dead silent when I walked in. The way Eli wouldn’t look at me. The way Knox looked like he wanted to be anywhere else.
I’m too scared to ask if this is about me. I’m terrified that if I ask, I’ll confirm my worst fears—that I’m a wedge being driven between them.
So I don’t ask. I lean back against the leather seat and let the rumble of the truck lull me.
Fallon turns up the volume on the radio, and we drive the rest of the way to the store, surrounded by the smell of leather and sea salt, pretending that everything is fine.
Things are definitely not fine.
The tension in the kitchen is thick enough to cut with a knife. Usually, Blade & Butter is a symphony of sizzle and clatter, a well-oiled machine. Today, it’s a funeral march.
Knox is in a mood so foul it could curdle milk. He’s not yelling; that would be too easy. He’s silent.
