Samuel twists around to look at him. “I am sitting.”
“Your knees are on the chair.”
“That still counts.”
Blake laughs into his mug while Luca reaches across the table with a damp cloth. “James, give me your arm.”
James pulls it against his chest and studies the red smear with open satisfaction. “It looks like blood.”
“It’s strawberry jam,” Luca says, catching his wrist before he can drag it across his shirt.
“I know. I’m pretending.”
Luca starts wiping him clean while Blake leans over and kisses his cheek. Luca turns just enough that the kiss lands too close to the corner of his mouth, and he gives Blake a look that makes the Delta smile.
“You missed,” Luca murmurs.
Blake sets his mug down and kisses him again, slower this time, one hand settling briefly at Luca’s waist. “Better?”
Luca’s smile lingers as he returns to James’s arm. “Much.”
Rosalie notices me then and twists hard enough to pull another section of hair from Luther’s fingers. “Gray! Papa made one side bigger.”
Luther exhales through his nose and gathers the loose strands again. “Your head keeps moving.”
“Because things keep happening,” she says, trying to look past him toward the stove.
“Things will continue happening whether you watch them or not.” Luther smooths the section flat with one palm, but Rosalie turns the moment Maceo drops a piece of toast onto the counter.
Luca laughs against Blake’s shoulder. Blake hooks an arm around his waist and draws him closer, making Luca nearly lose hold of the cloth.
“You’re not helping,” Luca says, though he is still smiling when Blake kisses the side of his head.
“I’m not trying to.”
Luther bends and presses a kiss to Rosalie’s crown before starting the braid again. “Face forward, sweetheart.”
“But Gray is here.”
“Gray will still be here when I finish.”
I cross the kitchen before sitting down and lean over Luther’s shoulder. He turns his head toward me without releasing Rosalie’s hair, and I kiss him, slow enough that Rosalie groans dramatically beneath us.
“You’re blocking the mirror,” she complains.
Luther’s mouth curves against mine before he pulls back. “There is no mirror.”
“I can still tell.”
I kiss his cheek once more and straighten. Maceo points the spatula toward the empty chair beside Blake, then reaches up as I pass and catches the back of my neck. He presses a quick kiss to my forehead before returning to the stove.
“Sit down,” he says. “I made enough.”
I take the seat while Blake slides a plate toward me. The eggs are firmer than I usually make them, and the toast is dark around the edges, but Samuel is eating now that Maceohas separated everything on his plate. James has stopped pretending the jam is blood, and Rosalie is holding still long enough for Luther to finish the second braid.
Maceo sets the pan down and leans over Luca’s chair to kiss him before taking the last open seat. Luca catches the front of his shirt and keeps him there for another second, smiling when Maceo finally pulls away.
“Thank you for cooking,” I say as I pick up my fork.
