Judging from the thin layer of dust, it was clearly not brand new, but it was definitely unused. I quietly ripped the tag off and carried the pan to the sink to wash it.
“So,” I said casually as I ran water over it, “you guys don’t cook much, huh?”
Behind me, Nico laughed. He’d started cutting up the chicken with surprising skill and was tossing the pieces into an air fryer, then turning it on.
That, I noticed, looked well-used, with its scratched and slightly warped basket.
“We don’t really have time,” he said. “The pack keeps us busy. And if it’s not work…” He shrugged. “We just can’t be bothered most days.”
I dried the pan and set it on the stove, turning the heat on low.
Busy.
I peeled several of the baby carrots, trying to make them look salvageable.
This was my chance. Keep it light.
“So what do you guys do?” I asked. “For the pack, I mean.”
Nico made a small noise of confusion. “Hmm?”
“They must keep you running a lot if you don’t even have time to cook.”
Shut up.
Shut up. Shut up.
Why did I say that like that? I risked a glance at him.
His knife had paused for half a second mid-chop.
Oh God. He knows. He definitely knows.
He’s going to realize I was standing outside that door for a reason. He’s going to tell Cooper. Or Levi. He’s going to?—
The doorbell rang, the sound cutting through the tension like a lifeline.
Nico blinked, then set the knife down. “Coming!” he called out.
He gave me an all-too-polite smile on his way past.
I waited until his footsteps faded toward the front of the house before exhaling.
“What the hell am I doing?” I muttered under my breath. Did I want to get caught?
I turned back to the stove and dumped the cabbage and chopped carrots into the pan, listening to the faint sizzle as they hit the heat. The vegetables had just started to soften when a warm, sharp scent drifted into the kitchen. Levi.
It was ridiculous how quickly my body reacted to him. My pulse immediately steadied, and the tight coil in my chest unwound a little.
Nico’s voice drifted in from the hallway. “…I don’t know why you keep coming back here. Don’t you trust me?”
“I just want to make sure—” Levi started, stepping into the kitchen mid-sentence. He stopped when he saw me. “Oh, Mason. You’re here.”
“Hey.”
I turned back to the stove quickly, pretending to be very focused on the pan. I dumped in the last of the vegetables and tore open a few seasoning packets I’d scavenged from the drawer—soy sauce, salt, pepper—and poured them in.
Levi came up beside me. “You’re cooking?”
