Chapter 8
Harper
In the morning, it’s the smell of bacon and coffee that finally rouse me from sleep. Usually, it’s the sound of the woman down the hall in the motel slamming her door or stomping her feet like a herd of elephants that wakes me up, and for a long few seconds, I have no idea where I am.
There’s sunlight streaming through the picture window, and I blink in confusion until the events of the night before start coming back to me.
I’m at the house of the three Alphas. Cora is somewhere down the hall, and judging from the fact that I woke up alone, she didn’t need to come get me in the night.
Whatever relief I might have felt from that is immediately washed out by the sensation of panic that I definitely have slept later than I meant to.
I jump out of bed, not even bothering to get dressed or brush my hair or anything, too focused on getting downstairs to make sure I’m not late or being rude or anything like that.
Of course, all three of the men are in the kitchen.
It smells comfortingly of breakfast foods and rich coffee, and their low voices only add to the atmosphere.
Cash is at the stove, flipping pancakes with a practiced hand, and Lincoln works the coffee maker, eyeing the grounds as he adds them.
At the long breakfast bar, Everett is cutting up fruit and adding it to a plate.
As soon as I burst into the kitchen, all three of them look up and see me.
It hits me then that I’m still in my sleep clothes, and they are getting a great look at me in an oversized shirt that does nothing to hide my curves, the collar slipping down over one shoulder, and the tiny shorts that can barely be seen under it.
Their gazes linger—not in a gross, obvious way, but enough that I can catch their heated looks before they look away politely.
“Morning,” Cash says, smiling brightly. “How’d you sleep?”
“I slept well,” I mumble back. “Maybe too well.”
“Is there such a thing as sleeping too well?”
There is when I don’t know if I should be getting comfortable and relaxing here. But I don’t say that.
I debate going back upstairs to change, to save what’s left of my dignity, but then Cora appears behind me, hugging the back of my leg.
“Morning, squirt,” I murmur.
She tugs on my shirt and looks into the kitchen with wide eyes, clearly following the smell of bacon. She’s been eating better lately, now that I’m making money, but bacon in the morning is still kind of a luxury for her.
I don’t want to leave her alone with the three of them while I get dressed. I don’t think they’d do anything to her, but it’s all still too new. I have no idea what to expect.
“I’ll just get dressed and then head into town to grab Cora and me some breakfast,” I say.
Cash whips around, leveling his spatula at me playfully. “No ma’am, you will not. This is for you two. What kind of hosts would we be if we made you walk into town first thing in the morning to eat?”
“I just—” I stare at the growing mountain of pancakes and the bacon sizzling on the other half of the griddle. “I don’t want to put you out…”
“It would be putting us out if you let all this food go to waste,” Cash declares.
I open my mouth to argue, but then let it fall closed again. I don’t even know what to say. They didn’t have to do this, hospitality be damned, but they are. It’s so hard to know how to react when someone takes care of me, instead of me being the one taking care of everything.
Cora comes farther into the kitchen, like she’s following her nose. She watches Lincoln, where he’s moved over to Cash’s side to start cracking eggs into a bowl. I’m about to tell her not to get in the way, when she reaches up and tugs on his shirt for attention, the same way she does to me.
Lincoln doesn’t get annoyed at being interrupted. He never does when Cora wants to communicate with him, but this feels… different. It’s one thing to entertain her at the bar, but this is their home. Their kitchen. Still, he crouches down to her level, his expression serious, but open.
“What can I do for you?” he murmurs quietly to Cora.
She points at the bowl of eggs and gives him large eyes. I watch as he considers that and then nods, pulling a chair over to the counter and then helping Cora climb up onto it.
“Let’s make some eggs,” he says.
There’s a lump in my throat as he guides her, showing her how to crack eggs with both hands, not even scolding her when a little of the slippery egg white misses the bowl and slops onto the counter.
Cash brings the stack of pancakes to the table and then turns to look at me. “You’ve got communication with her down pat, huh?” he asks.
“I guess so. I mean, I kind of have to, to take care of her and know what she wants.”
“Does she know sign language?”
I shake my head. “Not any formal version. We just have some signs we made up basically, so she can tell me what she needs.”
He takes that in, nodding. “Can you show me? If you two are going to live here, it would be nice to be able to communicate with her too.”
Once again, their consideration catches me off guard. Cash has been overtly nice since the moment I met him, but this is above and beyond just being hospitable. And the sincerity on his face tells me that he’s not just saying any of this to be polite. He means it.
I let some of the tension bleed out of my shoulders and sigh.
“She wasn’t always mute,” I tell him. “This is… a new-ish thing. After some trauma.” Cash’s eyes soften, and he nods, not interrupting.
“We developed the gestures together. Nothing too complex, just enough that I don’t have to play guessing games when it really matters. ”
“We’d like to learn,” Lincoln puts in.
Everett nods his agreement, and I show them the simple signs that Cora uses to express herself when she’s hungry or tired or needs to go to the bathroom. She’s never been shy about shaking or nodding her head for no and yes, and we add new things as needed.
All three of the men listen and watch intently, matching the hand gestures I make until they’ve got them down, like it’s the most normal thing.
And then it’s time for breakfast.
Everett brings over the fruit, and Lincoln adds plates loaded down with fluffy scrambled eggs and crisp bacon to the table.
We all sit down, and I make Cora a plate, adding a little bit of everything as her nods get increasingly excited when I pause over each offering to see if she wants some.
“And some fruit,” I tell her firmly. “You can’t live off pancakes and bacon.”
“Bacon is protein,” Cash says, winking at Cora. “But fruit is also good for you.”
“Rich, coming from someone who tried to live off sour gummy worms until he was seventeen,” Lincoln says quietly, spreading butter on his pancakes and not looking up.
Cash makes a face. “I grew out of it.”
“Did you?” Everett chuckles. “So if I were to go in your room right now, I wouldn’t find a stash of snacks in your nightstand?”
“That’s neither here nor there.”
It’s so interesting, watching them go back and forth like this. I don’t get the feeling that they’re doing this for my benefit at all. This is probably what a normal morning is like for them. Banter and breakfast and these warm, familiar vibes.
“Also,” Cash says, pointing his fork at Everett, “you try to insist coffee is enough for breakfast all the time, Sheriff. I don’t want to hear it from you.”
I surprise myself by piping in. “Coffee is part of a balanced breakfast.”
“Part of. That’s the key word,” Cash says. He grins at me.
“Is this where I make a joke about police officers and donuts?”
Everett groans. “I would rather you not.”
“No, if you want to call Everett out, you can just talk about how in the time it took him to cut up fruit, Lincoln and I made a whole meal.” Cash spears a chunk of cantaloupe on his fork. “There’s cutting fruit evenly, and then there’s whatever obsessive thing Everett does to it.”
Now that he mentions it, I do notice that every single piece of fruit is cut to the same size and dimension. No wonder he was at it for so long.
Lincoln laughs, and I do too. The sound just spills out of me, light and lilting and surprisingly real.
Cash grins brightly. “I’m pretty sure that’s the first time I’ve heard you laugh. I like it.”
My cheeks flush automatically, and I busy myself with eating more of the excellent food. Him pointing that out makes me realize that I’m starting to relax around these men, despite all the reasons I shouldn’t. I’m starting to let my guard down.
And that’s the one thing I can’t do. I have to stay wary, to keep my walls up. It’s the way to keep myself safe. To keep Cora safe.
But damn if they aren’t making it harder than it usually is.