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Chapter Twenty-Eight
Aurora
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AFTER THE BEST NIGHT'S sleep I've had in longer than I can remember in that cloud bed of theirs, I head straight for the home library, my computer and research files hugged to my chest. The house is quiet and since it's a weekend, I don't know if everyone is sleeping in, or if they're off at work. They didn't mention it the night before, but it doesn't really matter. I'm not actually being courted by this pack, I'm just staying here for now, so there's no need in coordinating schedules.
I still have a couple days before my next check in with the assholes from the OCP, so I fully plan to work my ass off figuring out my next steps before then. But this morning, I'm going to indulge in this lovely little oasis and clear my mind of stress and worries before I come back to the problem. Hopefully with some rest and clarity, the perfect answer will occur to me.
After dumping my things on the couch next to the window, I walk the perimeter of the room, my fingers dragging along the spines as I inspect their collection. They have an interesting mix. It's mostly genre fiction-—fantasy, mysteries, a lot of romance. Plenty of materials to idle away a day or ten, but not much that would help with my research for my papers and essays. Which is actually rather nice. This is a home, it should be an oasis, not a place to add more work to your shoulders. This place was clearly designed to be one for relaxing, not working.
But they've got excellent internet speed here, so I can do a bit of both.
Before I start any work, I pull a novel from the shelves that catches my eye. It's a romantic suspense that promises plenty of twists and turns. I could use the escape and it's thin enough, it shouldn't take me long to finish.
I'm deep into the book when the door opens and Callan slips inside, a tray in his hands, his fig and cognac scent mixed with the scents of sausage and biscuits making my mouth water. Callan is dressed in olive green scrubs that he shouldn't look so handsome in. But he does. His muscles stretch the bounds of the damn fabric, and part of me hopes the seams burst and he explodes out of his clothes Hulk-style.
"Good morning,” I say.
He shoots me a suave smile as he sets the tray on the low table in front of me. “Morning. I brought you some breakfast. The others aren't up yet, but once they smell food, they'll probably be down to bother you soon."
"I don't mind. It's y'all's house." I don’t want them tiptoeing around in their own space.
"It's yours too for the time you're here. We want you to feel at home, so if you ever need space, just let us know."
"Okay. Thanks." I eye the tray of food he brought, impressed by the carafe of coffee, a literal silver platter with a matching dome over it, fresh orange juice and a small jar of jam.
This is really too much, but I can’t wait to dive in.
One of the ways to my heart is definitely through food.
"Of course. I've got to head into the hospital for a bit, but I'll be home for dinner. Do you know when your mother is supposed to arrive?"
My appetite flees at the reminder. “My guess is, tomorrow."
He nods briskly. “Good. I'm already off and so are the others, so it's the perfect day for her to arrive. You won't be alone."
"Don't go to any extra effort for her. I've got Rose and Trix for backup if I need it as well."
Not that they'll stop my mother if she's really pissed off.
