Chapter 5 #2
Mallory expected to be led into a drawing room or a study, but MacTire took her through the main building towards the back where there was a large, gleaming kitchen.
He gestured at an elegant leather-covered stool before turning to a cupboard, taking out a bag of coffee beans and decanting them into a hand grinder. He started to turn its handle.
She ignored the stool and gaped at him. ‘You’re making coffee?’
‘That’s what you want, isn’t it?’ He pointed at the word scrawled across her hand. ‘If you’d rather have something else, there’s fresh orange juice. Milk. Water. Any number of flavoured teas…’
She shook her head. ‘Coffee would be amazing.’
He grinned. ‘Sit down. This will take a few minutes. Once it’s brewed, I’ll take you through to the study and sign the contract.’
Mallory eyed the stool before she hopped onto it. It was surprisingly comfortable; MacTire wasn’t simply concerned with aesthetics and that was useful information, though she still reckoned he had a type – at least when it came to partners.
While he boiled the kettle and prepared a pretty silver coffee pot, she decided to go for it. ‘What’s your preference?’
‘Excelsa,’ he answered without missing a beat. ‘But I’ll take arabica in a pinch.’
Mallory stifled a smirk. ‘I don’t mean coffee, I’m talking about women. What attracts you? You were on a date with Kit. Is she your type?’
He considered the question before he answered. ‘Not typically. I don’t really have a type.’
‘Blonde,’ said a voice from the doorway. ‘Sleek. Well-dressed. Height isn’t an issue but strength and strong magic are both desirable.’
MacTire scowled.
Surprised, Mallory turned to see a teenage boy stifling a yawn. ‘Are you making coffee?’ he asked.
This time, MacTire’s smile was wry and there was a softness in his eyes that Mallory hadn’t seen before. ‘Does it look like I’m making coffee?’
‘I guess.’ The boy paused. ‘Can you make pancakes, too?’
‘I’m not your personal chef.’ The alpha’s voice was teasing.
‘You’re the one who gave everyone the morning off.’
‘And you’re the one who wants more independence. Why don’t you cook us pancakes?’
The boy thought about it then shrugged. ‘Okay.’ He ambled over to the marble-topped island and started looking for a pan.
‘Ms Nash, this is Nicholas,’ MacTire said. ‘My nephew.’
Mallory had suspected as much; MacTire’s sister and her husband had been killed in an accident and their son, still in his mid-teens, was now living with MacTire. She’d heard they’d had a rocky start but that things were going better now. It appeared that the gossip mill had been correct.
‘Hi, Nicholas,’ she said. ‘I’m Mallory.’
He smiled at her. ‘Call me Nick, Ms Nash.’
‘In that case, my name is Mallory. Not Ms Nash.’
MacTire frowned as he extracted three mugs from a cupboard.
‘You can call the grumpy one Alex,’ Nick went on. ‘Or,’ he added with a wink, ‘if you really want to annoy him, Sandy.’
MacTire growled.
Nick laughed. ‘Or Lex. You know, like the Superman villain, Lex Luthor.’
‘I am not a villain, Nicholas.’
His nephew only grinned.
Mallory watched while MacTire poured the coffee and Nick cracked eggs into a bowl. An impressive amount of shell ended up in the mixture. Oh dear.
‘Sugar, Ms Nash?’ MacTire asked while Nick added flour and milk. ‘Cream?’
‘A splash of milk, if you have it. Thank you.’
He handed her a cup of coffee and they both watched as Nick whisked the pancake batter then dribbled a small amount into the pan, his face etched with concentration. The first attempt went badly and the boy scowled as he scraped the burnt offering into a bin.
Mallory glanced at MacTire. It was interesting that he didn’t try to help. Quite the opposite; he remained uncharacteristically quiet.
Nick bit his lip and tried again, this time with more batter. It didn’t help; the pan was too hot and the pancake was quickly burnt again. He hissed through his teeth. ‘Alright,’ he said eventually. ‘What am I doing wrong?’
‘Less heat,’ MacTire told him. ‘It’s not a race.’
The teenager turned down the gas flame. ‘Is that better?’
‘Give it a try and see.’
Nick spooned more batter into the pan. It sizzled faintly but thankfully this time there was no acrid smell of burning. ‘When do I turn it over?’
‘When you start to see bubbles,’ MacTire told him.
Nick peered at the pan. ‘Now?’
‘Do you see bubbles?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then you can flip.’
Nick reached for the pan with both hands and jerked it upwards. The half-cooked pancake flew upwards into the air before arcing down and landing on the floor with a dull splat. Mallory schooled her face into a blank expression.
Nick flushed and turned to his uncle. ‘I can’t do it.’
‘It’s just practice. It’s better to use a spatula until you get the hang of flipping.’ MacTire slid a steaming cup across to him. ‘Ms Nash and I are going to my office. Keep trying – it might be easier without an audience.’
Nick nodded. There was a glimmer of determination in his youthful face and Mallory smiled encouragingly before following MacTire out of the room. ‘You didn’t give him any help until he asked for it,’ she said, once they were out of earshot.
MacTire seemed surprised. ‘Of course not. If you don’t make mistakes, you can’t learn.
It’s good for him to try things out for himself then, if he needs support, he can ask for guidance and receive it.
It means he can learn his limitations, practise independence and stretch his abilities beyond what he thinks he’s capable of.
’ He shrugged. ‘It’s the same whether he’s making pancakes, earning a living or negotiating werewolf politics. ’
As Mallory gazed at him, several puzzle pieces slid into place. ‘You’re preparing him to become alpha after you retire.’
‘That’ll be up to Nick and the rest of the pack,’ MacTire said smoothly. ‘It’s not up to me.’
Except it almost certainly was up to him.
Alexander MacTire’s influence would go a long way towards putting young Nick in that position.
‘You’re not planning for children of your own, then?
’ Mallory asked. It wasn’t a given that any of his direct heirs would take his place as alpha, but it was often the way of such things.
He gave her a long look. ‘You ask a lot of nosy questions for a squib.’
She held her ground. ‘I don’t care if you want one kid, twenty kids or no kids – but the woman who becomes your First Mate will.’
His mouth tightened a fraction but she knew he’d acknowledged her point.
He sighed and finally gave her a proper answer.
‘I’d like children – two. One boy, one girl.
But I’m not beholden to the idea. If the perfect woman who is the right fit for me and my pack doesn’t want, or can’t have, children then it’s not a dealbreaker. ’
He raised an eyebrow as if challenging her. ‘You see,’ he added softly, ‘I can be adaptable when it truly counts.’ He paused for a beat. ‘Do you want children?’
She didn’t usually give away personal information to clients but something about the tone of this conversation encouraged her to say, ‘Yes, I do.’
‘How many?’
One boy and one girl would be beyond perfect but she couldn’t say that. ‘I haven’t thought about it,’ she lied.
‘Preternatural children?’
That was easier. ‘I don’t care. As long as they’re healthy, they can be half-witch, half-druid, half-troll or half-goblin.’
‘Half-werewolf?’ he asked softly.
‘Half-anything,’ she told him firmly. She tightened her toes. ‘We should get to work. Where’s your office?’
MacTire regarded her brisk attempt to change the subject with amusement. ‘This way,’ he said. He pointed to an oak door and bowed. ‘Ladies first.’