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He shrugs, his smile unrepentant. “Ask me if I’m sorry?”
I don’t because he’s not.
A smile teases my lips.
Cian lowers his hands.
“Enough,” Rune says. “Quit untying her apron.”
My smile kicks up into a grin, and so does Cian’s. He looks so…differentsmiling like that. I hadn’t thought he was ever anything but the serious, watchful alpha with a quiet disposition. But there must be more to him than that. Suddenly, I’m desperate to know what those other parts are. Or if he ever laughs.
And then I remember. He’s an alpha and I want nothing to do with them. I want to live in a quiet place I can be free of them. Forever.
As my smile fades, so does his. I turn away, taking a step toward Rune. “Can I help with something?”
Rune eyes me for a beat, clearly not missing the way I moved away from Cian or my lack of a smile. “Have you ever tasted the best cuisine in the world, cher?”
I shake my head, assuming probably not with all the vegetable soups and salads Lawrence preferred I ate.
“Well, you’re about to.” He hands me a wooden spoon. “Shrimp étouffée. It’s a family recipe.”
I take the wooden spoon and he nudges me toward a large metal pot on the stove. “You’re in charge of stirring. Ky, get to chopping the onion, garlic, celery, and carrot. Cian, you start on the roux.”
Kylian releases a heavy sigh. “First you make out I have BO and now you give me the onion and garlic?”
I catch Cian’s eye. His lip is twitching, and I have to turn away to hide my smile.
“Fine,” Rune concedes. “I’lldo the onion. You do the shrimp. You just have to—”
“Give me the damn onion. I’m not interested in twisting heads off shrimps,” Kylian grumbles.
Cooking is a messy affair.
Rune gives us orders. Many, many orders. And when he isn’t ordering us around, he’s saving something from burning because Cian keeps trying to help me instead of focusing on the roux. Amid all the constant interruptions, Rune tells us about how his family’s Cajun restaurant was so good, people would travel from across the country to eat there.
We destroy the kitchen in the mayhem of three learner cooks and one very vocal, experienced one.
Nearly two hours later, we all have sore backs, feet, and heavily stained aprons. But we’re sitting at the dining table with delicious-smelling bowls of Rune’s family’s famous shrimp étouffée.
“It looks amazing,” I say, almost salivating.
“Smells it too,” Kylian agrees, doing the same.
“Our family made the best shrimpétouffée in the city,” Rune says for maybe the tenth time.
I fork some into my mouth.
Given the way Rune hyped this meal up, I’m expecting an explosion of rich, Cajun flavors. The sort of meal that I will think—and likely dream about—long after I’ve left Pack Ashe.
That isn’t what I get.
It’s a miracle I don’t immediately spit it out, but it’s a near thing.
Across the table, I meet Cian’s eyes first, then Kylian’s. Both have their mouths full, expressions as carefully blank as mine feels.
“Well?” Rune prompts, bouncing his eager gaze between us. “What do you think?”
Kylian swallows. It takes visible effort since, like me, he couldn’t bring himself to chew even once from the size of the lump I watch go down his throat. He sets his fork on the table. “This family recipe. Did you write it down?”
