I salute. “Yes sir, Prince Kellen.”
Kellen’s smile slips for a moment. “Don’t call me that. At least, not when we’re together like this. My title doesn’t matter with this pack.”
No one comments on his use of ‘pack.’ Like it’s simply a thing now, no point denying it. So we carry on helping Kellen bake.
We’re halfway through dough-ball assembly when Kellen asks, “Did you ever want to do something else, Piper?”
“Like, for work?”
He nods.
I don’t have to think about it. “I wanted to make movies. Documentaries. Art-house stuff. I majored in film for like a semester before all this happened.” I gesture vaguely at myself, as though the pop star trappings are visible.
Kellen nods. “Do you regret going into the music industry instead?”
I squish a dough ball too hard. “Sometimes? Not really. I mean, I get to make music videos. That’s close enough, right?”
He thinks about that while methodically spacing out the raw pastries on parchment. “I wanted to be a marine biologist. My parents said that was probably not going to happen with the prince title.”
Elliot is focused on rolling out a perfect dough ball at the far end of the counter. “I think you would have made a great marine biologist.”
Kellen looks grateful. “Thank you. Maybe one day yet.”
“What about you two?” I ask the bodyguard contingent. They’ve been pretty silent, although my experience is they’re always a little too silent. I’ve cracked Nolan open some over the years, but much of Elliot still remains too much of a mystery at this stage in our situationship, for lack of a better word. For lack of the fully-agreed-upon termpack. Minus the “fake” modifier.
Elliot watches me watch him. “I wanted to be a cop, or a firefighter. This is almost the same thing, saving people and putting out fires. But my focus is Kellen first.”
“Bodyguard is the sweet spot for all three,” Kellen agrees.
Nolan grunts. “Police officer here, too. Although I did get through the academy. It didn’t work out.”
I raise an eyebrow. “It didn’t?” I had no idea Nolan was a police officer before joining Ravenwood.
He snatches up the bowl of dough balls I made and rearranges them. “No. I had authority issues.”
That doesn’t seem to track, but I have no reason to believe Nolan’s lying to me. Maybe I’ve just never seen them because his boss—whoever that is—is never around.
“Thank you for telling us,” I say softly.
Nolan nods.
We get into a rhythm. Kellen orchestrates. Elliot supervises. I make misshapen kolaches while Nolan criticizes everyone’sform. It is, objectively, the most domestic I haveeverbeen in my life.
Kellen nods at my lump pastry. “You’re a natural. That’s rustic charm.”
“It’s definitelyanaesthetic,” I agree. “Ugly food tastes better, anyway, I think.”
We’re brushing on the final layer of egg wash when Nolan accidentally splatters a glob onto my nose. I feel it before I see it.
I stick my tongue out. “Smooth.”
“That was deliberate,” he deadpans, but his eyes are crinkling at the edges.
I swipe a streak of flour and flick it at him. It lands square on his black shirt.Bullseye.
He eyes the flour. “You want to start a war, Sumner?” There’s a gleam of joy in his gaze.
I look at the counter, then at Nolan. “I mean. If you’re notscared.”
