4. TATI
Chapter four
TATI
The door clicks shut behind me and I’m officially in . Carleen’s apartment smells like warm spices and something faintly sweet, like vanilla and cinnamon had a love child and decided to set up camp in her living room. It’s so her —a mix of bold and soft, confident and cozy. And now, it’s about to have a little bit of me tucked into one corner of it.
“C’mon,” Carleen muses. “Let’s get you set up.”
She grabs a few of my larger duffle bags, throwing them over her shoulder like they weigh nothing, and leads me down the hallway to the spare room. It’s familiar—it’s the same space I crashed in more times than I can count, back when things were easier. Back when I wasn’t so hyper-aware of every look, every brush of her hand, every second I spent too close to her.
I wonder if she knows she’s carrying the pillows of my nest but I decide not to dwell on it.
“Here we are,” she says, dropping the bags on the bed. The sheets are fresh, the pillows fluffed, and there’s this tiny vase of flowers on the side table. It’s nearly the same as when I left. The only difference is that it no longer smells like me.
“Thanks, Alpha,” I murmur, giving her a soft smile, not even realizing what I called her. I ignore that too—I’m getting good at it already—reaching for one of the bags full of clothes. And then I start shoving them haphazardly on the lingering hangers in the closet. It’s late and my brain feels fried from the emotional whiplash of the past twenty-four hours—which is why I naturally start building my nest without even thinking about it.
The clothes are always first, something hanging above me so that it makes the space feel smaller. And then the pillows. My gaze darts around the room for the duffel bag and I start unzipping it before Carleen’s chuckles break through my concentration. My head snaps up to meet her amused expression as she leans against the doorframe. “Tati, what the hell are you doing? Why are you cramming everything in the closet? You know you’re staying here, right? Like, really staying here.”
Heat blooms across my cheeks and I scratch the back of my neck awkwardly. Fuck, she knows, doesn’t she? I toe the duffel bag with my foot, hoping she doesn’t stare too long at the corner of the pink fluffy blanket popping out. “I—I don’t know. Habit? I’m used to… not taking up too much space.” That’s an understatement. I’ve been building nests for years and hiding myself away in them when the world got a little too loud. And they’ve always been in a small corner, tucked and a little bit darker than the rest of the room.
I swallow nervously as Carleen steps closer, gently pulling me into her arms. My entire body melts as she embraces me, her nose running along my cheek. “Take up space, sunshine. Please. This is your room, your home. If this is going to work, I want you to make it yours.”
Goddess, I want to tell her so fucking bad but everything is perfect right now. Tomorrow, I tell myself. “Right, of course.”
Carleen chuckles, still running her nose along my cheek, plastering her scent against me. It’s a possessive move, one that I’m 100% behind because it tells me that even her instincts want me. “I’m going to make us a little something and we can deal with the rest in the morning. Sound good?” Her voice has dropped a few octaves, an almost sultry edge to her words. My entire body responds, heating from the inside out but I tamper down those desires.
Neither one of us is ready to take that step just yet. We will be and when it happens, it will be glorious but tonight, baby steps.
“Yeah, food sounds perfect.” I watch her leave, a sigh of relief leaving me as I strip and head for the attached bathroom.
Steam curls around me as I step out of the shower, the hot water working its magic on my tense shoulders and the knots in my stomach. I let myself take a moment, my forehead resting against the cool tile of the bathroom wall as droplets of water trail down my spine. This feels… surreal. Being here, in her bathroom, using her towel. It feels like stepping into something sacred—like I’m being let in on some part of her that no one else gets to see.
When I finally pull myself together, I tug on the pajamas I brought—a pair of soft shorts and an oversized tank top with a faded band logo on the front. Cute but casual. Just enough to make me feel like I’m not trying too hard while still looking… y’know, presentable .
I rake my fingers through my damp hair, letting it fall naturally around my face as I pad barefoot into the kitchen. The soft glow of the under-cabinet lights spills over the countertops and the smell that hits me nearly knocks me off my feet.
It’s rich and savory—something with beef, garlic, herbs, and… oh my goddess, is that wine? Carleen stands at the counter, plating whatever culinary masterpiece she’s just created and I swear, she looks like something out of a magazine. Her brow is furrowed in concentration, her lips pressed together, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She’s got this look of intense focus, and it’s… distracting. Very distracting.
I lean against the entryway, arms crossed loosely over my chest as I watch her work. The way her hands move so deliberately, every flick of her wrist precise, every placement intentional—it’s mesmerizing.
And okay, maybe I’m staring at her arms. And maybe her shoulders. And maybe her mouth. But can anyone blame me?
She glances up just as I lick my lips, and her eyes go wide, her cheeks immediately turning a deep, rosy red.
“ Tati! ” Her voice is sharp, embarrassed, and it makes me grin like I’ve just caught her doing something scandalous.
“What?” I say innocently, pushing off the archway and sauntering into the kitchen. “I was just watching, Alpha. You looked… focused.”
Her mouth opens like she wants to argue, but then she just huffs out a breath and looks back down at the plate. “I was plating. Not exactly sexy, sweetheart.”
“Debatable,” I murmur under my breath as I slide onto one of the barstools, leaning forward on my elbows. “So, what did you make? It smells amazing.”
Carleen’s lips twitch like she’s fighting a smile, and her eyes flick up to meet mine again. “It’s beef bourguignon… with a twist.”
“Beef…what now?” I blink at her and she actually laughs this time, this low, warm sound that makes my stomach flip.
“Beef bourguignon,” she repeats, slowly. “It’s a French stew. Slow-cooked beef, red wine, onions, mushrooms…”
She keeps talking, but I’m already distracted by the plate she’s sliding in front of me. The sauce glistens under the light, the meat practically falls apart on sight, and the smell—oh, the smell. Without thinking, I grab a forkful, scoop an entire bite into my mouth, and nearly moan right there at the counter.
“Oh. Oh my goddess. ” I slap my hand on the countertop as I chew, eyes closed in pure, unfiltered bliss. “Carleen, what the hell. Did you put crack in this?”
She lets out a sharp breath, half frustration, half amusement as she stares at me. “Tati… you just inhaled that bite. Did you even taste it?”
I look up at her, cheeks full, blinking innocently. “Yeah. It tasted like heaven.”
She pinches the bridge of her nose, muttering something about ‘heathens’ and ‘no respect for art’ under her breath, but I just grin and hold out my fork. “More, please.”
Her brown eyes flick to mine, and she looks almost pained, but there’s a smile tugging at her lips despite herself. “Tati, food like this is meant to be savored . You don’t just shovel it in like it’s drive-thru french fries.”
I gasp dramatically, clutching my chest. “I’ll have you know I love drive-thru french fries.”
“That’s not the point,” she grumbles, turning to grab the pot from the stove and scooping more onto my plate. “What I do… it’s a craft. It’s about flavors, balance, layers. You’re supposed to experience it.”
I nod solemnly as I stab another piece of beef with my fork. “Carleen, I respect your craft. I really do. But food is also meant to be enjoyed . And if it’s not enjoyable, then what’s even the point of eating it?” Carleen’s still staring at me, her brown eyes locked onto mine like I just said something wild. And okay, maybe I did, but it was the truth.
Her brows pull together, her lips parting like she wants to say something, but no words come out. She just stares . I flash her a grin, trying to ease whatever storm’s brewing behind those deep brown eyes. “Don’t look so surprised. I meant it.”
She doesn’t reply, just leans against the counter with her arms crossed over her chest, her broad shoulders blocking out the kitchen light behind her. She’s got that look—the one that makes me feel like she’s seeing every inch of me, every thought in my head, every stupid little insecurity I’ve ever carried around.
But instead of letting myself get caught up in the intensity of her gaze, I laugh, stepping around the counter and straight into her space.
“Alright, enough brooding. You’re starting to look like a tortured anti-hero in a romance novel.”
Her lips twitch, but she doesn’t break the stare. I smirk and wink at her before turning my attention to the kitchen. Carleen’s kitchen, mind you. Her perfect kitchen, where everything has its place and every spice jar is alphabetized like it’s some kind of military operation.
I start rummaging through cabinets, pulling things out at random. My chaos has always intrigued her at the same time that it frustrates her.
“What are you doing?” she asks, a hint of amusement lingering in her words.
“Making something,” I reply vaguely, opening another cabinet and— jackpot —finding a fresh, homemade sourdough loaf sitting pretty on a wooden cutting board. The thing looks like it belongs in one of those fancy Instagram flat lays, but instead of grabbing it, I slide past and open the fridge.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Carleen says, straightening up as she watches me bypass her precious sourdough and grab a store-bought loaf that looks like it’s been sitting in the back of the fridge for a week. “Tati, what the hell are you doing?” she asks again, her tone edging closer to exasperation as I grab a few more random ingredients—cheese, butter, some garlic paste, and what looks like leftover pasta sauce.
I drop everything on the counter with a loud thud and grin up at her. “Just watch, Chef Carleen. Sit back, relax, and let me show you some Beta magic .”
Carleen’s frown deepens as she glances at the chaos I’ve unleashed on her pristine kitchen counter. “You’re going to use that bread instead of the sourdough? Are you serious right now?”
I hold up the store-bought loaf dramatically like it’s the hero of this story. “This, my dear Alpha, is deliciousness in the making . Trust the process.”
She pinches the bridge of her nose again, muttering something under her breath about ‘blasphemy’ and ‘culinary sins,’ but I catch the way her lips twitch like she’s fighting a smile.
I smirk and get to work.