Chapter 8 — Pantry Shelves And Bad Ideas #9
The kitchen was full of evidence. Kiki in my shirt. Shay on my counter. Three mugs out. A pan of eggs. My handprint faint on Shay's thigh. A mark on Kiki's neck. The kind of air that couldn't be explained by breakfast.
"No," I said quietly.
Kiki looked at me.
I didn't mean tell them everything. I didn't mean fling open the doors and burn the whole family-trust structure to the ground.
I meant I was tired of treating the women in my kitchen like shame.
Shay heard the difference. Her grin softened.
Tatum appeared first, carrying two tote bags over one shoulder and a pastry box against her chest. She stopped in the kitchen entrance so abruptly Penny nearly walked into her.
Tatum looked at Kiki.
Then Shay.
Then me.
Then Kiki again.
Her smile turned incandescent.
"Oh," she said. "Well. Somebody had a productive errand."
Penny stepped around her with a second tote bag and a coffee carrier. She took in the room in one elegant sweep. Kiki at the stove in my shirt. Shay on the counter in another one. Me in sweatpants and no shirt. The eggs. The mugs. The heat still lingering in everyone's skin.
Penny's mouth curved.
"We brought your bags," she said, setting the tote down like she wasn't looking at every inch of us. "They ended up in Reese's car after lunch."
"And pastries," Tatum added, lifting the box. "Because I'm generous, heroic, and apparently late."
Shay lifted her coffee. "Tragically late."
Kiki's blush went pink and lovely. She turned back to the stove like eggs required her full attention.
Tatum moved into the kitchen with the controlled energy of a woman trying very hard not to bounce. That restraint was new. It made her more dangerous, not less.
"So," she said, setting the pastry box on the island. "This is cozy."
"Breakfast," I said.
"I can see that." Tatum's gaze dropped to the mark on my shoulder and came back up sparkling. "Very protein forward."
Penny took one of the coffee cups from the carrier and leaned against the counter beside the door, polished even in cutoff shorts and a sleeveless blouse.
Her eyes were amused, but under the amusement was hunger.
Focused. Reputation-aware. Sharper because she didn't let it spill everywhere like Tatum did.
She set Kiki's tote on the island with the handle turned neatly toward her, a tiny act of manners that somehow made it clear she had cataloged every visible piece of the night.
"You two look comfortable," Penny said to Kiki and Shay.
Kiki looked over at her. For a second, something passed between them that didn't need words. Permission, maybe. Or proof.
"We're," Kiki said.
Simple.
Unapologetic.
Tatum's face changed. The joke stayed, but the wanting underneath it came into focus.
Not just for sex.
For this.
Coffee and ruined hair. Bare legs in my kitchen. Casual kisses. Someone knowing where the mugs were. The right to stay until morning and burn eggs while wearing my shirt.
Penny saw it too. Her gaze moved from Kiki to Shay to me, and the polished amusement thinned enough to show the ache underneath.
"Interesting," Penny said.
Shay hopped off the counter and padded barefoot to the pastry box. "If either of you says anything that makes Kiki panic, I'll stab you with a croissant."
"Croissants aren't stabbing tools," Tatum said.
"Not with that attitude."
Kiki laughed, and the tension broke enough for everyone to breathe again.
Tatum opened the pastry box and peered inside. "I call dibs on whatever has chocolate. Also, for the record, I'm furious."
"About the pastry allocation?" I asked.
"About being assigned delivery duty after history happened." She pointed a danish at me. "I support history. I'd like history to consider my schedule."
Penny sipped her coffee. "Subtle."
"I contain multitudes."
Shay leaned against Kiki, hip to hip, and Kiki slipped an arm around her waist without thinking.
There it was.
The next hook in the line.
Kiki and Shay weren't pretending anymore. Not in this kitchen. Not in front of Tatum and Penny. They looked sleepy and satisfied and a little shy, but they also looked secure. Like women who had crossed into my life and found room for each other there.
Tatum saw that and wanted in with her whole restless body.
Penny saw that and wanted in with the part of herself she usually kept behind perfect posture and expensive sunglasses.
I stood in my kitchen with two women wearing my shirts, two more watching the aftermath like it had unlocked a door, and a pan of eggs Kiki was absolutely going to insist were salvageable.
The full shape of what we were building pressed against the morning.
Not solved.
Not safe.
Not simple.
But closer than it had been yesterday.
Tatum lifted her pastry in a toast.
"To breakfast," she said.
Penny's eyes met mine over the rim of her coffee.
"And to timing," she added.
Shay grinned.
Kiki reached for my hand.
I took it.
The house felt warmer than it had any right to.
And across the kitchen, Tatum and Penny looked at that small, ordinary touch like it was the dirtiest promise in the room.