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He smirks. “You love it.”
And she doesn’t deny it, because she does. Brady wraps his arm around my shoulder and strokes his hand down Quinn’s spine. “You’re fucking amazing, you know that?”
I shoot him a smile. “Thanks, B.”
“How much longer until we can go home?” Quinn asks. “My feet are killing me.”
Home? Me and my brothers all share a look.
She is our home.
Epilogue
ONE YEAR LATER
QUINN
A timer goes off, and my heart rate spikes. I’m in the middle of draining the boiled potatoes, but the rolls need to be pulled out now or they’ll burn, and no one likes burned rolls.
“Crap, crap, crap,” I mumble to myself as I dump the potatoes into a colander faster than before, accidentally splashing my skin with hot water.
The beeper is practically screaming at me now. “Jesus, I hear you.” I turn it off and grab a hot pad.
“Do you need help?” Austin asks from the doorway.
I shoot him a pointed glare. “Don’t you dare come into this kitchen.” I grab the rolls out of the oven and set the pan on a hot pad. “I’m almost done.”
“You don’t have to do it alone,” he says, toeing the line between the hallway and our kitchen.
Notice I saidourkitchen? That’s because I’ve upped my cooking game over the last year. Granted, this is my first time cooking a full formal meal alone, but I wanted to do this for our anniversary. It’s not anything fancy, either. Chickencordon bleu, grilled asparagus, roasted broccoli, rolls, mashed potatoes?—
“Shit, the potatoes.”
Austin chuckles as he watches me dash to the fridge for milk and butter, but to his credit, he doesn’t come to my rescue. “Can I just put the rolls in a basket and wrap them up, so they stay warm?”
I side-eye him as I open the stick of butter, then look at my next timer. The chicken will be out in three minutes, and I need to get the potatoes started, which means stopping to do the rolls will take forty seconds of time I don’t have. “That’s all you’ll do?”
He crosses his heart. “I swear it.”
“Fine. Don’t touch anything else.”
“Yes, Chef.” Austin bows in my direction, and I huff out a laugh.
I turn on the burner to help the butter melt in the pot. “Sorry, I just want it to be perfect for you guys without needing help.”
“Quinn,” Austin says as he grabs a little basket and a clean towel. “It’ll be perfect because you made it.”
“You have to say that because you like me and my vagina.”
He walks by and drops a kiss on my cheek. “Don’t be silly, Iloveyou and your vagina.”
A chuckle tumbles past my lips. I grab the potatoes now that butter is mostly melted and dump them into the pot. Opening the second drawer on the right, I grab the potato masher. “Where are Dylan and Brady?”
“They’re installing the new lights you ordered for your nest.”
Ah, yeah. While I liked the original ones, during my last heat, the light kept stabbing me in the eyes. I ordered a lower wattage and smaller, more fairy-like style of lights, hoping they’ll be gentler.
I brutalize the potatoes and keep watch on Austin as the timer for the chicken counts down. The masher slams into thepot again and again, and his eyebrow slowly rises with each time I slam it into the mash.
