Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Emily
“Is that burning?” Jared asks, leaning over my shoulder to sniff the stew pot.
I elbow him aside without looking up from the simmering broth. “No. And stop hovering. The table’s not going to set itself.”
“Already done.” He steps back with a flourish, arms wide to reveal the handmade wooden table, set with three custom-carved bowls, the spoons I coaxed out of him during that disastrous January whittling crash-course, and blue napkins folded into wobbly little triangles. “See? Professional.”
I snort and give the stew another stir, releasing the aroma of rosemary, sweet carrots, and savory beef. “Lucky for you, I’m not grading on presentation.”
“Hush, or you won’t get any of my masterpiece.” He sashays past to fetch the proofing basket, flipping the dough onto the baking peel.
“Your masterpiece is just flour and water I mixed this morning.”
“Details.” He slides the loaf onto the hot baking steel in the oven and closes the door with a flourish.
A knock comes from the front door at six o’clock on the dot.
Jared straightens. “That’s probably Grady.”
I roll my eyes and keep stirring. “I can tell the time.”
“Don’t be grumpy just because you’re nervous.” Jared’s arms come around me, one hand splaying over my stomach. “Only positive thoughts, remember?”
I put my free hand over his for just a second. There’s so much hope in that touch, so much certainty, and I feel the familiar ache of wanting to be certain, too.
Then the knock comes again, and Jared drops a quick kiss to the side of my throat before he lopes off to answer it.
It opens, letting in a rush of cold air that carries the scent of fresh linen and sun-warmed cedar. My skin prickles at the familiar scent, and heat curls in my stomach.
I freeze, spoon half-raised and ears pricked at the quiet exchange of hellos, the thunk of boots on the mat, the soft rustle of a coat being hung on the peg by the door.
When I lift my head, Leif stands in the kitchen doorway, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, carrying a bottle of red wine in one hand and a small paper bag in the other.
“The stew smells delicious,” he says softly.
My spoon clatters into the pot.
Cheeks coloring, he steps forward, setting the wine and the bag down. “Thank you for inviting me.”
I clear my throat. “Saturday dinner is always open to whoever wants to come.”
I just didn’t expect, after so many missed weekends, that he actually would, even with a direct invitation.
He takes another step closer. “I meant what I said at my welcome party. I’m not giving up on us.”
“Leif—”
“I know.” He holds up a hand. “I’m not here to complicate things. But I couldn’t keep staying away.”
One corner of Leif’s mouth kicks up. “And I even brought dessert. Apple turnovers from The Daily Bread.”
My throat tightens. The last time he’d shown up with those, he’d been standing on my cottage porch with an apology for being late to our woodworking lesson.
I focus on the stew instead. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know,” he murmurs.
My heart thuds behind my ribs. “Thank you.”
He comes to stand beside me at the counter, and when he reaches toward the mug tree for the corkscrew, his shoulder angles toward mine, and I go very still.
The moment stretches, his hand closed around the corkscrew, but not backing away, and I become aware of his breathing, the warmth coming off his collar, and the fact that he is scenting me without even trying to hide it.
“Being part of the Wright pack means I can offer more than I could before. To a household.” His hand pulls back, his arm brushing mine. “To you and Jared.”
I swallow hard. I’ve always been the one to carry the household, to see to everyone else’s needs. Jared’s been working to shoulder some of those burdens, but the thought being tended to by an Omega, by Leif, leaves me suddenly, embarrassingly vulnerable.
I turn my head and find his mouth right there, his pheromones rising around me.
“Leif…” It isn’t a warning, and he doesn’t back down.
“Let us court, Em.” His head dips closer. “We can do things right this time, no secrets, no added burden. You know we can be good together. Let me show you how committed I am this time.”
His lips draw my attention, and memories rise of all the ways that mouth has brought me pleasure in the past. A purr starts as I sway toward him.
But then another knock at the door brings me back to my senses.
“Grady’s here,” Jared calls as his footsteps head for the door.
“Think about it,” Leif murmurs and steps back, corkscrew in hand.
He lifts the bottle of wine, his hands moving with an easy confidence that has warmth pooling between my thighs.
I clear my throat. “I’ll get the glasses.”
I step out of the kitchen calmly—not running away—and move to the cabinet in the dining room to bring out the wine glasses.
As I do, Grady steps through the door, a warm smile on his lips. “Sorry, I’m late.”
“You’re not late,” Jared says, taking his coat. “Bread is still in the oven.”
“You should probably check the temp on that,” I call out as I add a fourth place setting. “Or you’ll be the one burning dinner.”
“Not my masterpiece!” Jared bolts past me into the kitchen.
Grady laughs as he moves to join me at the table, cane tapping a slow rhythm on the pine floor.
He peeks into the kitchen. “I thought that was Leif’s car parked outside.”
“Yeah, he decided to join us tonight.” I frown a little. “You didn’t know he was coming?”
Grady shakes his head, but doesn’t comment.
Does that mean Leif caught an earlier water taxi? Otherwise, the two men would have seen each other at the boat and could have carpooled here.
Jared appears in the doorway with the steaming loaf balanced on a wooden board. “Great news! My masterpiece survived.”
“Oh, that came out looking good,” Grady praises. “How did you convince Em to let you be the baker today?”
Jared waggles his eyebrows. “I’ll tell you later.”
Pink stains Grady’s cheeks while Leif coughs into his hand, and I throw a napkin at my young Alpha.
He laughs as he ducks and sets the bread in the middle of the table before disappearing back into the kitchen.
A moment later, he returns, carrying the Dutch oven, thick mitts protecting his hands.
“Hot,” he warns.
“I’ve got you.” Leif steps in beside Jared, lifting the lid while Jared settles the pot onto the trivet.
A cloud of fragrant steam billows upward, filling the dining room.
Grady draws a deep breath. “Your stew is always worth the trip from the island.”
“It better be,” I say, ladling stew into the waiting bowls. “I’ve been tending it since lunch.”
Leif slices the bread while Jared passes bowls around the table, the two of them falling into an easy rhythm, as though all those weeks of absence never happened, and a flutter rises, the bond reaching for its Omega.
Leif pauses for a heartbeat, turning toward me, but I keep my head down as I fill the wine glasses from the bottle he brought.
Jared drops into the chair on my left, while Grady takes the one across from me, leaning his cane on the side of the table within easy reach.
Leif hesitates only a heartbeat before claiming the chair on my right, close enough that our elbows might brush, and the traitorous flutter comes again from behind my sternum.
“Bread?” Jared asks, holding out the cutting board with the loaf.
Grady reaches out to tear off the end. He juggles it between his fingers, steam rising from the center, before he dunks it into his stew.
Under the table, Leif’s knee bumps mine as he reaches for the bread next, and Jared’s feet tangle with mine.
I snatch up my wine glass and take a swallow, too big and too fast. It burns going down.
Jared tears off a hunk of bread, steam curling from the pale center before he drops it into his stew.
“So,” he says around his first bite, pointing his spoon toward Leif, “how’s life as Quinn’s favorite person?”
Leif snorts as he grabs the butter. “I’m not her favorite.”
“You absolutely are.”
“Blake’s her favorite.”
“Blake’s her uncle.” Jared grins. “There’s a difference.”
I hide my amusement behind a sip of wine.
Leif shakes his head as he spreads butter over a slice of bread, watching it melt into the warm crumb. “Ever since I moved into the cabin, she’s decided she’s entitled to my time whenever the mood strikes.”
Grady chuckles across the table.
“Yesterday,” Leif continues, “she showed up before breakfast with Sprinkles and announced they were both bored.”
“What time?” I ask.
“Seven fifteen.”
Jared frowns. “Shouldn’t you guys have already been at the school by that time on a Friday?”
“It was a teacher workday.” He sets down his spoon. “I had a full afternoon of meetings at the school lined up and was planning to sleep until eight at least. She informed me the dog needed a walk, and I needed fresh air.”
“That does sound like Quinn.”
“She wasn’t wrong.” Fondness softens his features.
“Now she times her arrival to the minute. I come out to lock up, and she’s already there on my porch with Sprinkles, backpack on, with our path already mapped out.
We’ve taken every possible path between my cabin and the dock at this point.
The longer ones involve significant detours for interesting rocks. ”
“Does that mean you’re not getting free meals at the Homestead?” Jared demands as if the very thought offends him. “I can’t believe Holden is letting you skip out on family meals.”
Leif has the grace to duck his head. “I spend more time there than I do in my own cabin, so I try to give the pack some alone time in the morning.”
“But you’re pack, too,” Grady protests.
Leif fiddles with his spoon. “But I’m not a bondmate. It’s good for them to have private time.”
I tear my bread into smaller pieces than necessary before asking as casually as I can, “How’s the cabin otherwise? Settling in all right?”
His shoulders tense a little, though a cabin on the island had always been part of his job as a nanny and tutor. “It’s starting to feel lived in. The bookshelf has books on it, and the shoe rack’s getting a lot of use with my muddy boots.”
“Glad to hear it,” I say before I can stop myself. “You built them both well.”
“We built them well,” Leif says, his knee brushing my leg under the table again and not moving away this time. “We work well together.”
The table goes quiet for half a second.
Grady glances at me, and Jared clears his throat. “What do you think of that spoon you’re holding?”
Leif’s brow creases, and he lifts the spoon in his hand to study it, then turns to me with a question written across his face. “Did you carve these?”
I arch an eyebrow. “Why? You don’t think they’re my style?”
“No,” he rushes out, his knee moving away again. “They’re very…well-made.”
A laugh escapes me. “Yeah, they came out well.”
“Actually, it’s very...” He searches for the word, his lips twitching. “Professional.”
Jared puffs up in mock offense. “Excuse me. I spent weeks whittling these spoons. My blood and sweat went into them.”
“What an appetizing picture you paint,” Grady murmurs as he takes another bite of stew.
Jared waves his spoon in front of Grady’s nose. “Take a good look. Everyone is getting spoons as gifts this year.”
“They’re excellent spoons,” Grady says.
“They have character,” Leif adds.
Grady laughs, but it lacks the usual lightheartedness I’m used to from him when he’s relaxed, and it fades as quickly as it came.
He spoons up the last of the broth before turning toward Leif. “How’s the school?”
Leif groans.
“Oh, no,” Jared says around another mouthful of stew. “What happened now?”
“The PTA.”
All three of us wince in sympathy.
“They’ve spent three meetings arguing over T-shirts for the second-grade field trip.”
I blink. “That’s it?”
“No.” Leif pinches the bridge of his nose. “The argument is whether forest green sends the wrong message about environmental responsibility.”
Jared nearly inhales his bread.
“I wish I were joking.”
“What color did they settle on?” I ask.
“They haven’t.” He throws up both hands. “Now someone’s campaigning for sage because it’s emotionally softer.”
Jared grabs his napkin to laugh into it.
“And don’t even get me started on the debate over biodegradable ink.”
The laughter comes easily after that, bouncing off the cottage walls with the warmth from the fireplace and the yeasty aroma of fresh bread still lingering in the air.
But I find myself watching Grady instead of listening to the end of the story.
He’s smiling.
He’s asking questions.
He’s participating.
But usually, when Grady is here, his whole face comes alive. His hazel eyes brighten behind his glasses, and he’ll steer a conversation somewhere none of us expected.
Tonight, his smiles never quite reach that far, and they disappear the moment someone else starts talking.
For a heartbeat, my attention catches on Leif, who has everyone laughing over some poor parent’s campaign to replace the school mascot with a river otter, before returning to Grady.
The two men have always gotten along.
So why does it seem as though Grady is sitting half a step outside the conversation?
Jared notices I’m not fully participating in the conversation, and his foot taps mine under the table, asking without words.
I tap back, letting him know I’m fine.
But I’m not fine, and we both know it. The stew is perfect, the bread is warm, and the cottage smells like rosemary and woodsmoke, with the four of us sitting at a table together, exactly as it should be, but I can’t stop thinking that something is off.