Chapter 51 Mac #2
I set up the double boiler and measured the chocolate, adding four tablespoons of butter once Tray brought it to me.
I slowly stirred and babysit the mixture as it melted and combined.
The warmth of the kitchen, the casual banter, the way everyone and everything smelled—gourmand and spicy and like home—was heaven on Earth.
Such a thought would have been seen as sacrilege when I was a kid.
But now I knew, beyond a doubt, that peace and joy could be found anywhere when you were with the right people.
As much as I loved the guys, as much as each of them was an unshakable part of me, Tessa completed things.
I didn’t know how unfinished our family had been before she arrived.
"Mac, you're smiling," Ryder said, appearing at my side. "It's a good look on you."
"Am I?” I didn’t know why that surprised me. That I could be smiling without realizing it.
“Ear to ear,” Ryder leaned against the counter next to me, crossing his arms and glancing down at the slowly melting chopped chocolate.
“Guess I’m just embracing the beautiful mess, as Tessa calls it," I admitted, surprising myself with how true it was. I stirred the mix for a heartbeat, then turned my attention back to Ryder. “You don’t have a job yet,” I observed.
Ryder shot away from the counter. “Yep, I do. I’m washing raspberries.” He sauntered off, towards the vodka instead of the fruit waiting next to the sink.
“That’s not the right direction,” I called after him.
“It is if I’m going to wash fruit,” he countered, picking up a bottle. “It’s chef fuel.”
“Don’t overdo it,” I chided.
“Nope, Mac. We’re embracing the mess tonight, remember?
And this mess needs one more shot of Grey Goose.
” Ryder didn’t drink much anymore, none of us did really.
But we’d had enough kitchen disasters lately that a bottle of something or other typically made an appearance anytime Tessa was gung-ho to try a new dish.
I removed the inner bowl of the double boiler, setting the melted chocolate on a trivet to cool slight so it wouldn’t cook the yolks when I incorporated them.
I glanced over, finding Dixon’s large body perched on the island watching Tessa as she concentrated on whipping the egg whites.
The bowl wasn’t tall enough, and the hand blender was trying to splatter foaming egg all over.
Tessa’s forehead creased, and a small curl fell across her face.
I walked over, that curl all my eyes could see, and I reached towards her gently, tucking the rogue hair behind her ear.
Even though she was busy trying not to make a total mess, she tilted her head, letting her cheek graze my skin.
That simple, brief contact sent electricity through my fingertips.
As I dropped my hand away, I couldn't help but flex it open and closed. The ghost of her always seemed to stay long after we touched. It lingered on my body, repeatedly confirming she existed. I couldn’t imagine rewinding time, and going back to the tortured, turning-feral Alpha I’d been less than half a year ago.
She was the damn cure, far more than any torturous scent-stripping at the clinic could ever be.
I took the yolks and finished prepping my part, before walking it back to Tessa. Ryder was making a big show of cleaning individual raspberries, and Tray was…
I looked around. Tray was nowhere in sight. That sly fox. He’d disappeared as soon as he thought no one would notice.
"Okay, fold the chocolate gently," Tessa looked at me, face earnest. Part of me wanted to laugh at how seriously she was taken this, but it was also so damn endearing. "Last time, I thought we did, but maybe I go even slower this time?"
"Just don't stir the shit out of it," Dixon supplied sarcastically.
“Very helpful, Dix,” I laughed and moved behind our Omega, mirroring Dixon's earlier position. I leaned into her, breathing her scent in deeply.
"Together?" I asked, waiting for her nod before wrapping my hand around hers which was already holding a silicone whisk. "We’re just trying to avoid disturbing the air you’ve already worked into the whites," I demonstrated, guiding her through the gentle motion.
It was harder to manage than I was making it look.
Being this close to her, our bodies pressed together, made me want to mix like a mad man, finish what we were doing, and focus instead on touching every part of her.
The folding motion becoming more fluid with each turn of her wrist beneath mine. Her body heat radiated through me, making it difficult to focus on the delicate process at hand rather than the curve of her neck so close to my lips.
"Think that’s good?" she asked, her voice soft and intimate.
"Perfect," I murmured, my breath disturbing a few loose strands of her hair. "We’ll definitely have flawless soufflés this time."
Dixon watched us with hooded eyes from his perch on the counter, his fingers tapping an unconscious rhythm against his thigh.
Ryder, likewise, had either finished washing fruit or abandoned the task.
He was turned towards us, hands in his pocket, gaze taking in the way Tessa and I worked together.
The kitchen felt smaller suddenly, charged with an energy that had nothing to do with our culinary endeavors.
Our heady, mingling scents threatened to send us all over the edge.
I reluctantly stepped back, giving Tessa space so we’d focus on the hot, waiting oven versus the building heat between all our bodies. The loss of contact left me oddly bereft, like I'd been unplugged from a power source. Ridiculous how much I needed her now.
A meow made us all turn towards the arched kitchen entrance. Tray strode into view with Josie cradled in his arms. He grinned at us all. “Finished?”
“No,” I arched an eyebrow. “You’re just in time to butter and sugar the ramekins.”
“Damn,” he breathed out. “A few minutes early.”
Josie meowed, stretched, and then pushed away from Tray’s body. She turned midair as she fell towards the floor, landing deftly on her feet. Tessa smiled affectionately, and raced over, dropping to the kitchen floor.
“Where have you been, silly cat?” She pulled Josie, who protested, into her lap. “Don’t you dare fuss, ‘Miss disappears inside the mansion and makes us all play hide and seek trying to find you’. We used to be thick as thieves, now you can’t be bothered with me.”
“She was down in the studio this time,” Tray leaned over, scratched between Josie’s ears and then sighed. “Guess I’ll go wash my hands and slave over a hot stove.”
“You literally just have to prep a few dishes, Tray,” I countered, “not cook a five-course meal for fifty.”
“All day. All night. Standing on my poor, tired feet. Cooking for you ungrateful, miserable, mouths,” he continued, undeterred.
I rolled my eyes but couldn't help smiling. Tray, with his flare for the dramatic—whether it be words or clothes or the way he absolutely slaughtered the drums—was unapologetically himself. He always had been.
"Butter. Sugar. Ramekins. Now," I ordered jokingly. This was just the familiar push and pull of our pack dynamic, something I cherished more than ever.
"Yes, Head Chef!" Tray mocked, giving me an exaggerated salute before sauntering over to the refrigerator.
Tessa remained on the floor with Josie, who had settled and was now purring contentedly in her lap. The sound floated into the space, a gentle undercurrent to our louder banter. Our home was a calm sort of chaos now. Our pack’s soundtrack was soothing and joyous.
No drug-fueled parties with blasting music, which I tried desperately to enjoy, even while ‘sinner, sinner, sinner’ repeated inside my head. The voice was always my mother’s or father’s. It always made me feel small and flawed.
No mindless encounters with half-dressed groupies high on our fame. Me trying to enjoy the casual, trying to force a connection that could never exist.
No getting kicked out of hotels… which usually was a relief to me, if I’m honest.
I fucking loved my life these days.
We all stared down at the concave ‘should be’ soufflés.
“I don’t get it. We did everything right.” Tessa frowned.
"I'm not sure," I admitted, studying the sad, fallen desserts. I picked up the left tablet, scanning the recipe’s steps. "We folded carefully. The egg whites were stiff enough..."
“Yeah, they were,” Tray said quickly, not wanting to miss his opportunity. “I know stiff enough when I see it.” He grinned, dimples sinking, obviously very pleased with himself.
I could have reminded him he wasn’t even in the kitchen when the eggs whites were whipped up, but he looked too self-satisfied.
"Maybe our oven runs hot," Ryder suggested, poking at one of the deflated soufflés with his spoon.
Dixon snorted. “Or maybe soufflés are just assholes that refuse to cooperate with mere mortals.”
Tessa laughed, the sound snaking through my body and making me vibrate with need.
"I think Dixon's right. These things are temperamental little divas." She scooped a bite from her ramekin and popped it into her mouth. She had to part her lips and breathe out quickly in little pants to diffuse the heat. "Still tastes amazing though,” she mumbled around the molten dessert.
“All I know,” Dixon moved closer to Tessa, lifting a hand and pushing it beneath her hair to curl around the back of her neck, “is the soufflés are a shit-show, and I’m expecting that second dessert any minute now.”
Tessa's eyes darkened as Dixon's fingers stroked her neck. "Well, since you mentioned it..." She set down her spoon and turned to face him fully.
I swallowed hard, watching them. The air in the kitchen shifted, like someone had cranked up the thermostat ten degrees. The failed dessert was already forgotten, replaced by something far more enticing.
"I think I need to change," Tessa announced suddenly, her voice husky. "My dress has egg white on it."
Dixon's grip on her neck tightened slightly. "Changing implies you need new clothes.”