Grandma made the best pancakes, better than Dad, even.
I wonder if I can get her recipe from him sometime.
My mind runs in circles as I gather ingredients—flour, sugar, vanilla, baking powder, eggs, buttermilk. I strongly debate on the yogurt I picked up a few days ago. It’s vanilla flavored so it would probably be fine, but I don’t want to screw this up. Now, where does he keep his mixing bowls? I open all the lower cabinets where a normal person would keep those, but nope. Standing up, I try the ones over the stove.
Dang tall alphas and storing stuff in tall cabinets.
He probably doesn’t even own a footstool.
I could climb the counter, they look sturdy.
Turning around I hop up on the counter, butt first. I’m wearing my sleep pants, but I’ll still clean it before I start cooking. Getting turned around and up on my knees is harder than I remember from doing this as a kid. Of course, my pajamas are fleecy, so they want to slide around on the stupid shiny rock countertops, and I have to grab the door handles to keep from doing the splits up here.
Sorry, Sam, can you make another trip out in the snow this morning? I fell and broke my butt trying to make pancakes.
Yeah, I’m sure that’ll go over well.
Finally victorious, I grab the mixing bowls out of the stupidly high cabinet and try to turn around, only to have big hands go around my waist holding me in place. Great, one of the tall alphas in question. The hands find the spot where my shirt is riding up from having my arms up, but they’re so cold and rough against my bare stomach I let out a tiny shriek and almost fall backwards off the stupid counter. “Um, Kelly, what are you doing up there?”
“You wanna help me down, Garret? I’m not stuck, but I get the feelin’ Sam’s not gonna be super happy about me climbing on his counters. That bein’ said, he shouldn’t put his mixing bowls in really tall cabinets.” The hands gently lift me off the counter and set me on the floor, and I smile up at the alpha I’m so conflicted for. We just met yesterday, and yeah, he was a complete jerk on the phone—but after talking to him, I kind of understand why. His life’s been hijacked, and he’s stressed. We all have bad days.
The question is, would he have apologized if he didn’t think I was his? Would he still be a jerk, or is he actually a nice guy who was just having a rough time? Something about him draws me in, and it’s not just how he was yesterday in person.
His scent makes me think of the ocean and thunderstorms, which is funny since I’ve never actually seen an ocean. Maybe it’s because Teddy said they’re from Los Angeles? Part of me wants to snuggle into him—which is less weird than it was the first time with Teddy and Sam—but also more frustrating since he was so mean. My brain's telling me to kick him to the curb for how they treated Teddy, and how he was on the phone…but mostly Teddy. I know he explained somewhat yesterday, but we really all need to sit down and talk.
Sam's not gonna like this, and I want him to be happy. My body decided that Teddy and Sam are mine, and my brain gave up and went along with it. They feel safe and like home. Now these guys…my body says that Garret’s mine—not Steve—butuntil I know it’ll work out for Sam and Teddy, nothing else is happening.
He hasn’t stepped out of my space yet even though I’m firmly on the floor now. I can’t really step back either with the counter right behind me. I raise my hands up, and he smiles for a brief moment, it’s beautiful. I almost feel bad for putting them on his chest and gently pushing him back out of my space. He goes easily enough, but I think he’s disappointed I wasn’t trying to hug him.
Sorry, we’re not there yet.
Maybe soon?
I want to hug you and snuggle you, but I don’t want to upset anyone.
I just need to keep the peace.
That last thought makes me cringe. I do like everyone to get along, but it was never a huge thing growing up. My family had arguments, everybody does, but never anything I really needed to act as peacekeeper for. Maybe it’s just a beta thing, trying to keep everyone happy and relaxed. Alphas are generally considered the most volatile designation, but that’s a fallacy. I’ve met alphas who are overwhelmingly aggressive, but I’ve also met betas that are nuts. I used to work with one of those—that was a shock.
Then there are alphas like Sal or Jacks or Leo, who are sweet and gentle, but will absolutely destroy someone if they threaten their people. That’s supposed to be more of an omega trait. Then again, omegas are supposed to be tender and cuddly. Of the few I know, that only really seems to fit Brice. Teddy has been caring and gentle with me, but he looks like he could happily shred someone. And Candice is the farthest person I know from snuggly, at least outside her pack...plus that whole fork incident.
My hands are still resting on Garret’s chest, and he moves to cover them with his own. Thankfully they’re starting to warmup. He lifts my left hand from his chest and brings it to his face, nuzzling his jaw against my palm. It’s not exactly a scent marking, he just looks like he needs comfort. Looking at where my hand is cradled in his bigger one, I finally see why they were so rough earlier. Dried blood and road rash are stark against the meaty part of his palm. It looks like he hit the pavement.
My eyes flick up to his face, no issues there, it doesn’t look like someone knocked him onto the road. Maybe he fell, the sidewalks were probably pretty slippery out there, but I ask anyway, just to be sure. “What in the world happened to your hands? I know it doesn’t get super cold where y’all come from, but you gotta be careful in the snow, it can get dangerous.”
“Um, yeah…about that. I kinda met Sam’s brother. Well, I mean. I’d heard of him before since he’s mated to Teddy’s cousin. But I didn’t connect the dots, and since Sam said your pack’s name was Carpenter it just didn’t register. Regardless, he seemed really upset with me since I showed up with Sam, and ended up dragging me out of the truck.” He looks down at his hand that isn’t holding mine. “And I guess I got kinda scraped up. Sorry I didn’t realize how bad it was. I mean, I knew it stung, but I thought it was just the cold. I’ll…I’ll go get cleaned up. Sorry if I bled on you.”
Crud, pancakes can wait.
Trying to be as gentle as possible, I take the hand that’s holding mine and lead him to the main bathroom down here, the one I usually use. “Come on, I think I saw some bandages in this one, and if not…we’ll figure it out.” He follows me along, staring at my hand holding his. His expression's almost vacant like he’s lost in some sort of daydream. I don’t want to accidentally hurt him, but he needs to pay attention before he walks into a door frame.
Too late.
Well, ok, technically it’s my elbow that smacks into the doorframe, but it makes me jerk my hand out of his to grab my funny bone. He lunges to try to follow my hand and manages to kick the door frame. There’s a sharp intake of breath and a pained groan as he comes out of the daze he was in. But then he grabs for the elbow I'm cradling against my stomach, carefully lifting it up and inspecting it while he stands on one foot. He’s rubbing his injured toe up and down the back of his opposite leg.
We probably look like an uncoordinated mess right now. His big scraped palms run lightly over my arm, and he winces and gives me a quick, “Sorry,” when I let out a pained giggle. Ticklish and uncoordinated is not a good look. I always hurt myself and then start laughing when someone tries to help.
Like, no, I really do appreciate your concern, but I can’t stop the giggles.
