Chapter 12
Kinsley
I was mid-flip, pancake sizzling golden in the pan, when I heard footsteps in the hall. The kind that promised trouble…or mischief. Probably both.
Soft Christmas carols drifted from the speaker behind me. My heart felt full. I smiled to myself, expecting Nik to sneak up on me, put his arms around my waist, and mouth to my ear like he always did when I cooked. He’d been hovering all morning, looking far too pleased with himself.
But as I reached for the eggs, a deep baritone sliced clean through the cozy domesticity. “Time for you to sod off, brother.”
I yelped. Like a full-body jolt, heart-leaping-into-throat yelp before whirling around.
There he was. My beloved.
He filled the doorway like a storm rolling in. Towering, broad, and untouchably calm. My stomach flipped so hard I actually felt a little dizzy. The butterflies that wore his name on their tiny wings exploded in every direction.
Our eyes locked. His were dark, intense, hungry in that quiet, anchored way only the Blade could pull off. Heat rushed up my neck, and wasn’t from the stovetop.
Nik, still seated at the table, gave him a look—half amused, half resigned. “Already? We haven’t even had breakfast.”
Ivan strode forward like a man on a mission, not even breaking stride.
“You’ll survive. Find a drive-thru.” He tossed a glance at the food as if it were a mere suggestion, not a full spread.
Then, without ceremony, he grabbed Nik by the collar and hauled him to his feet with brotherly ease.
“You had her all day yesterday. My turn.”
I stared at them, one brow raised, spatula still in hand. “You know, you could invite him to stay.”
Ivan reached me and leaned down, placing a kiss on the crown of my head, his palm settling warmly against the small of my back. “Nope. We eat with him all the time. Today is about us. Go on, Crow. Kiss her one more time, then get out.”
Nik grumbled under his breath and sent me a teasing wink. “You should make him cook. But don’t let him near the eggs. And please drink your water today.”
I rolled my eyes, but it was all affection. “Yes, Daddy.” I smirked, tiptoed to kiss him, and whispered, “Love you.”
His mouth brushed mine, tender and sweet. “Love you more.” Then he was gone, leaving me alone with my Blade King.
Ivan plucked a piece of fruit from the bowl I’d chopped earlier and popped it into his mouth without asking, completely unfazed by the kitchen chaos he’d walked into.
He leaned against the counter with an easy confidence, like this was another ordinary morning—not one where he’d bulldozed his way past Nik and taken over without blinking.
I cracked the last egg into the mixing bowl and tossed him the spatula. “You’re on pancake duty now, Sir,” I said sweetly, giving his hip a playful nudge with my body. “I don’t trust you with the eggs. Not even a little.”
He caught the spatula effortlessly and raised one perfect brow. “Bossy woman. It’s a good thing I love you. I can’t believe you’re putting me to work first thing in the morning.”
“It’s the least I could do. You kicked out my helper,” I pointed out, giving the eggs one last whip.
He chuckled low in his chest, the sound rumbling through the quiet morning, soft and deep, curling around me like warmth from the fire. Still, he moved without argument, stepping up to the stove with the calm precision of someone who’d already decided how the next five minutes would go.
I watched as he eyed the pan, lifting the spatula with quiet determination, clearly gearing up for his grand moment.
“Don’t you dare,” I warned, one hand on my hip. “It’s a science. You can’t be flipping all willy-nilly.”
“Willy-nilly?” he echoed, a smirk pulling at one corner of his mouth.
“Yes, willy-nilly.” I crossed my arms, trying not to laugh. “You have to wait until bubbles form throughout the pancake—not just around the edges.”
He tilted his head, amused. “How many bubbles are we talking here, Chef?”
“Pay attention and you’ll be helping Mrs. Patterson every Sunday,” I shot back. “Oh! You could make them for the whole family Christmas morning.”
He side-eyed me. “Uh, no. Absolutely not. But…go on. Enlighten me.”
I pointed with my wooden spoon. “See that? The bubbles formed and then popped. Now we’re left with little holes that don’t close. That’s the signal. Now flip it.”
He did surprisingly smooth. The pancake flipped perfectly and landed in the center of the pan.
The sight of this big, burly man with tattoos peeking out beneath rolled sleeves, hair perfectly styled, standing at my side flipping pancakes—made something flutter in my chest. It wasn’t the swoony kind of flutter that left you breathless. It was quieter than that.
Whatever it was, it settled deep and warm inside me. It was moments like this that chipped away at all the old hurt. My eyes stung unexpectedly, and I blinked fast, fighting the lump that formed in my throat.
He looked over and caught me watching him. “You alright, little love?” he asked, his teasing paused in favor of concern.
I nodded and smiled, wiping my hand on a dishtowel. “Yeah. Just…I like this. Us. Like this.”
He didn’t press. That wasn’t how he went about getting me to open up. Alek would demand answers first with a look, and then with a command. Nik would coax them out of me with a charm offensive. Ivan waited. My quiet, steady, present beast.
He nodded, flipped another pancake with the kind of patience most people only pretended to have, then reached for my hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.
It always hit me this time of year. The absence. I didn’t really remember Christmas with my parents, but I remembered everyone I celebrated with Owen. The memory came back crystal clear.
We’d been on the road for a while. It was just the two of us in that weathered RV, chasing safe skies and small comforts. He never said it outright, but I knew it had cost him something to disobey and not leave me at New Haven. Something huge.
The nightmares hadn’t lost their edge, nor had the panic attacks for that matter. They were still consistent. It hit every time we stopped at the grocery store or gas station. Every time I had to be around a group of people.
And it was the week before Christmas. We’d parked the RV on a quiet, wooded lot near Mount Rainier. Snow dusted the tops of the trees like powdered sugar, and the only sound for miles was the occasional chirp of a winter bird or the hiss of the old space heater he’d rigged up to keep the chill off.
That morning, he pulled out a paper map, the old-school kind with creases and coffee stains, and smoothed it across the tiny table. “Close your eyes,” he said in that gravelly voice of his. “Pick where we go next.”
I peeked through one eye. “What if I pick the middle of nowhere?”
He smiled, lips twitching beneath that salt-and-pepper beard. “Then we’ll find the two nearest towns and flip a coin.”
I closed my eyes and pointed. My finger hovered over the map, and I swiped it to the edge closest to him and then back to the other side. I did the move several more times feeling self-conscious—worried I’d pick wrong. He sensed it.
“You can do it. Count to ten now for me and then touch the map.”
Immediate relief coursed through me. It was a command of sorts, and I was still learning to function again without having every step of my day in someone else’s hands. Sometimes it was necessary for him. I swirled my finger like a magic wand and then plopped it down.
A grunt signaled his approval. “Las Vegas, huh? It looks like we have some homework to do on our new locale. But first, we need to get a few things.”
A trip to town. I nodded and set about putting the laptop away into the drawer he’d labelled the tech cabinet.
After that, I helped with a few more items and then took my seat.
We drove in silence, and he didn’t make me go inside with him.
I should have known he was up to something since he didn’t even ask me to try this time.
So I wasn’t surprised when he pulled out a gingerbread house kit he’d picked up. “We’re gonna have a contest,” he said, setting down two paper plates. “Best house wins control of the radio for the week-long trip to Las Vegas.”
He let me win. I knew it, but I never called him out on it.
Because when I looked up and saw this former soldier, who could build a fire with wet logs and clear a room in under ten seconds—squinting at gumdrops as if all of a sudden he couldn’t see—I knew.
I’d seen the man pipe icing on a name day cake for me with surgeon-level precision.
But his lines that day were messy and so very telling.
Those memories faded, and without warning, the bone-crushing reality of my first Christmas without him followed. I blinked down at the bowl of batter and took a steadying breath. There was no point in lingering in the space between what had been and what might have been.
So I folded the memory, tucked it behind my ribs, and tried to focus on the now. The warmth of the cottage. The scent of maple syrup and bacon. Ivan, who stood next to me, was clueless about my inner turmoil. He grinned as if this was all he ever needed.
“So, what’s the plan for today?” I asked, trying to redirect my thoughts.
He gave me a sideways glance, his mouth lifting into a lazy, teasing smile. “Plan? What plan? I figured we’d hang out. I’ve got a few calls to make. Might stop by the club.”
A small frown tugged at the edge of my mouth. “Really? You didn’t plan anything?”
“What? My company isn’t thrilling enough for you?”
“It is,” I murmured, forcing cheer into my voice. “I just thought…” My words trailed off, and the silence between us stretched. “It’s fine. We can stay in. If that’s what you want.”
The wobble in my voice betrayed me. I looked down at the stove. “Flip, please,” I whispered, focusing on the pancakes. If I looked at him now, the tears would start, and I didn’t want to ruin this—not after how magical the last two days had been.