Chapter 21 #2
“Jealous? Of your coffee-based power complex? Absolutely not,” Tristan says, grabbing a box of crackers from the counter.
He holds it up, inspecting it. “Where does one put... artisanal gluten-free crackers? Do they go with the regular, gluten-full crackers, or do they need their own, emotionally separate shelf?”
“Next to the other crackers is fine,” I say, happy for the distraction. I take the box from him before he can drop it, and slide it onto a pantry shelf. “It’s called integration. They’ll learn to get along.”
“Bold of you to assume crackers can overcome their differences,” Tristan says with a mock-serious nod.
Diego opens the freezer, his head popping up with a worried frown. “The ice cream should have its own shelf,” he says, glancing at me, and I catch a sliver of heat in his eyes before he focuses on the freezer again. Are they all pretending right now?
“Why?”
“It’s a treat,” he says. “It shouldn’t have to associate with the everyday vegetables.”
Rett glances over his shoulder at me, the smallest flicker of amusement breaking through. “Resilient ice cream. Good to know.”
Dane rolls his shoulders and begins wiping down an already spotless counter. “The real question is why there’s frozen kale in this house in the first place.”
“Because I bought it,” Diego says, crossing his arms. “Some of us like to eat things that didn’t come out of a box labeled Fun Size.”
Tristan leans over me, his broad chest brushing against my back, and a skitter of sensation rolls through me. “Do not slander the magically delicious.”
Diego shakes his head, muttering something in Spanish that sounds suspiciously like an insult about Tristan’s parentage, and opens the fridge again to start rearranging shelves.
Tristan, completely unbothered, starts a debate with Dane about which cereals were the best when they were kids. Their easy, chaotic bickering fills the kitchen, and for a moment, I feel my shoulders relax. It’s almost... normal.
I’m so focused on watching them that I don’t notice Rett has moved until he’s standing right beside me, our arms almost brushing. I glance up to find he’s looking at the spice rack we just bought.
“Cinnamon,” he says, his voice a low, quiet rumble meant only for me.
I blink, turning to him. “What about it?”
He picks up the small glass jar, turning it over in his large hands. “Your planner. You wrote ‘brunch with Leah’ and then, next to it, ‘buy cinnamon rolls.’” He sets the jar down, his fingers lingering on the glass. “You like cinnamon.”
I stop breathing.
It’s such a small, throwaway detail. A doodle in the margin of my life.
The fact that he not only read it, but memorized it, is so far outside the realm of what I expected from him that my brain momentarily shorts out.
He noticed. The hyper-focused, intimidating CEO of Sterling Solutions noticed a note I made about cinnamon rolls.
He finally turns his head, and his deep blue eyes lock onto mine. The playful banter of his brothers fades into a distant buzz. There is only the intense, unwavering focus of his gaze and the clean, cedarwood scent of him that is suddenly making my head spin.
“I notice everything about you, Zoe,” he says, and it doesn’t sound like a threat, or a promise. It’s a simple, devastating statement of fact.
Before I can find my voice, he grabs the remaining cans, turns, and walks back to the pantry, leaving me with a racing heart and skin that is suddenly a size too small.
I stare, my brain replaying his words on a loop. I notice everything about you, Zoe.
From somewhere in the background, I can hear Diego, Dane, and Tristan talking. They’re all still here, still moving, but for me, the world has narrowed to the terrifying, thrilling realization that Rett Sterling sees me.
It’s Tristan’s voice that finally, gently, pulls me back.
“Hey.”
I blink, forcing myself to focus on him. He’s leaning against the counter, watching me carefully.
“He’s... a lot,” Tristan murmurs. “We all are. For what it’s worth...” He hesitates, then meets my eyes, his own full of a surprising sincerity. “You’re doing great. With all of this.”
The praise is so unexpected that it leaves me momentarily speechless. Before I can find a response, he pushes a small, white paper box across the counter toward me. I hadn’t even noticed him holding it.
I look down at the box, then back at him, a questioning look on my face.
“It’s, uh, from the bakery next to the grocery store,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I saw them in the window. They’re... muffins. I just, you know, figured... after the whole planner thing...” He trails off, shrugging.
I stare at the box. A slow, watery smile touches my lips. “Thank you, Tristan.”
“Yeah, well,” he says, clearly uncomfortable with the sincerity of the moment. He clears his throat and pushes off the counter. “Don’t tell Diego. He’ll get competitive about who can be the most thoughtful.”
He grins as he turns away and my heart does a stupid little flip. Taking a deep breath, I shake off the last of the tension, and grab the final empty bags from the counter.
“Okay.” I clear my throat, trying to gather my bearings. “I think that’s the last of it.”
The kitchen is transformed. What was once a sleek, sterile space now looks lived-in. Full of food and the faint smell of coffee beans. A place where people actually exist.
“A resounding success.” Tristan leans against the now-clear counter with a satisfied sigh. “Teamwork makes the dream work.”
“The dream of having actual food in the house?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “Setting the bar pretty low there.”
“Hey, baby steps,” Tristan shoots back with a grin. “Rome wasn’t built in a day, and neither was a pantry stocked with five different kinds of carbs.”
“Profound,” I deadpan, but I can’t quite hide my grin.
I glance around at them. At Rett, now leaning casually against the pantry door, his arms crossed as he surveys the organized shelves like a general admiring a battle plan.
Diego, sneaking a marshmallow from the Lucky Charms with a guilty grin.
Dane, silently wiping down the counter one last time, as if making sure everything is perfect.
And Tristan, still grinning like he’s just won some imaginary award for Best Grocery Organizer.
For a moment, I just watch them. This strange, chaotic group of men who’ve somehow inserted themselves into my life.
And for the first time, I don’t feel overwhelmed. I feel... warm. Like I belong here, in this kitchen, surrounded by their voices and their energy.
Rett catches my eye across the room, and his mouth curves into a small, private smile. My stomach flips.
“Okay,” Tristan says, clapping his hands together. “Who’s cooking dinner?”
There’s a pause. A long, awkward silence.
“I’m ordering takeout,” Rett says, already pulling out his phone.
“Agreed,” Diego says, tossing the box of cereal back onto the counter.
“Definitely not me,” Tristan chimes in, grinning.
Dane doesn’t even bother answering.
I sigh, shaking my head. “Cowards.”
But I can’t stop smiling.