Chapter 11
Demarien’s kitchen smelled like garlic and butter, and steam curled lazily from a pot on the stove while the soft sizzle of chicken in a pan filled the quiet.
He stood at the counter, sleeves rolled up, carefully slicing into a red bell pepper.
His movements were practiced but unhurried, as he settled his nerves.
“Do you like the cottage’s kitchen?” Boone asked from the doorway, leaning against the frame. “It’s a lot smaller than the main house’s.”
Demarien didn’t look up. “I actually really like it. At the inn, I’ll be cooking for everyone, but here in this cozy spot, it’s just me and mine.”
“Do I count since I’m yours?” Boone asked, smirking.
“Absolutely,” Demarien said, finally glancing over with a grin. “I’ll cook for you every day if you let me.”
“Can’t say no to that.” Boone pushed off the doorway and wandered in, drawn closer by the warmth. He hovered near the stove, peering into the pan. “What is this supposed to be, anyway?”
“Chicken piccata,” Demarien said, turning back to his cutting board. “Or something close to it.”
Boone raised an eyebrow. “That ‘something close to it’ is doing a lot of work.”
Demarien nudged him lightly with his elbow. “You can either trust the process or stay out of the kitchen.”
“I’m just here for quality control.”
“Uh-huh.” Demarien slid the chopped peppers into the pan, and the sizzle sharpened. “Your only qualification is that you’re hungry.”
“That’s a strong qualification,” Boone said. “Highly motivated.”
Demarien huffed a quiet laugh. For a moment, the only sound was the clink of a spoon against the pan and the low hum of the stove.
Boone leaned his hip against the counter, watching him more closely now. “You haven’t been cooking a lot lately. Did you miss it?”
Demarien shrugged. “While I enjoy eating in restaurants, cooking myself keeps my hands busy.”
“And your mind?”
Demarien hesitated for just a second, then stirred the pan again. “That too.”
Boone nodded slowly, not pushing. “Well, it smells like progress.”
Demarien gave him a small smile. “You should see what I have planned for Thanksgiving.”
“If you let me, I’ll be there this year.”
“Consider yourself invited.” Demarien reached for a lemon, slicing it cleanly in half. “You could help, you know.”
“With what?”
“Anything. Stir. Set the table. Pretend you’re useful.”
Boone considered that, then grabbed a fork and stepped closer to the stove. “I can stir.”
“Can you?” Demarien took the fork and handed over the spoon, their fingers brushing briefly. “Careful. Don’t burn it.”
“No promises.”
They stood side by side for a moment, the space between them easy, familiar. Boone stirred with exaggerated seriousness, while Demarien measured out capers and added them to the pan.
“Will your parents mind if you come to the inn on Thanksgiving? What do you normally do?”
Boone shrugged. “They’ve never been keen on holidays. Usually, they travel. When I was a kid, I spent the holidays here with Grandad. Since he died, Patrick and I get together with some of our friends from our unit.”
“They’re all welcome here, too.” Demarien snuck a peek at his alpha. Boone looked unusually relaxed and happy, and it made Demarien feel good to know he had something to do with that.
“I’ll invite them.” Boone grinned, eyes sparkling. “Patrick will be here by then, so I can say he’ll come for certain. The others, I don’t know.”
“I’ll prepare Felix.”
Boone hummed under his breath. “He’s pretty skittish around alphas, I noticed.”
“He’s always been that way.” Demarien sighed. “He has his reasons, but he’s been working hard on being more self-confident.”
“Do you think he’d help me with my self-defense lessons? I could use an assistant, which might help him boost his confidence. I’m assuming he took lessons like you, too.”
Demarien paused and stared at Boone for a moment. “Hey,” he said after a beat, quieter now.
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad you’re here tonight.”
“Me too.”
Demarien shook his head. “No, I’m glad you’re here, period. Thank you for being you, Boone.”
Red climbed across Boone’s cheeks. “Can’t be anyone else.”
Demarien didn’t answer right away. He just watched the pan, then glanced at Boone, something softer settling in his expression. “I’ll ask Felix if he wants to help you. How are the lessons going, by the way?”
“I’m up to two a week.” Boone made a face. “To tell the truth, besides you, they’re the most interesting thing I have going on, but there’s no need for more classes in a town this size. I’ve thought about getting a job with the sheriff’s department when Patrick finally transfers here.”
“Are you okay with bills?” Demarien asked, worried. “I can lend you some money if you need it.”
Boone shook his head, smiling softly. “Thank you, sweetheart, but I’m good. Grandad left me his rental properties in town. Taking care of them pays the bills, but it isn’t a lot of work. I’m not used to having so much free time.”
“Well, you’re welcome to work at the inn anytime you want.
” Demarien huffed. “Puck insisted on buying a small herd of sheep from a man downsizing his hobby farm. He wants to use them to clear brush around the old vineyard and gardens. We tried to tell him that mowing it would be cheaper, but he insists the sheep will be more efficient. They get here next week, and now we’re going to have to work on fencing and sheep houses. ”
“Sheep houses?”
“Puck wants to put little sheltered areas around the place so they can get out of the rain when they want to.”
Boone grinned. “I can help with that.”
Demarien felt some relief at the words. “Would you? It would be very helpful, and maybe you can curb Puck’s ideas about highland cows.
There’s no reason for them, but he wants to get them.
I swear that hobby farmer keeps sending him pictures of the remaining animals for sale.
Maybe Patrick can go intimidate him when he gets here. ”
“I can do that.”
Demarien rolled his eyes. “No one will be intimidated by a man as handsome as you.”
Boone pointed at the kitchen window. “What about Milo? He looks pretty creepy right now.”
Demarien turned and stared at his friend.
Milo pressed his face into the glass of the kitchen window, looking pitiful. “I can smell your cooking from the main house. Please, Demarien, if you ever loved me, please feed me.”
“Balls,” Demarien groaned. “Come in, you weirdo.”
Milo hurried around to the door and came inside, stopping a moment to pet Brownie. “Puck and Felix ordered pizza, and it was good, but it wasn’t enough. We’ve been working all day, and I’m starving.”
Demarien sighed. He understood the omega. His own nausea and cravings were a pain to deal with. Milo’s increased appetite had only gotten worse over the past few weeks. “Boone, will you please text the other two and invite them over? It looks like our dinner date is officially crashed.”
“On it,” Boone said with a laugh, grabbing his phone.
The kitchen was filled again with the sound of cooking. Steady, warm, and just a little brighter than before.
The table was too small for the number of people gathered around it, but no one seemed to mind. Elbows bumped, knees knocked, and now and then someone reached across someone else’s plate with a quick “sorry, not sorry” grin.
“Okay, tomorrow we start on the fencing around the vineyard for the sheep. Who’s going to help me?” Puck asked before shoveling food into his mouth.
“That would be me,” Boone said, leaning back in his chair as if he’d just been awarded a medal. “And before you say anything, no, I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“That’s fine. Neither do Demarien and Milo,” Puck replied, scooping up another bite.
Across from him, Felix snorted into his drink. “As if you do?”
“I can put up a fence,” Puck protested.
“Just like you can paint,” Felix said, smirking. “You remember that whole room I had to repaint today?”
Puck winced. “Okay, so maybe Felix needs to help with the fence, too.”
Laughter rippled around the table, easy and familiar.
Milo, who had been quietly piling food onto his plate, finally took a bite and moaned. “Why does food taste so much better now?”
“It’s not fair.” Demarien pushed his plate away from him. It smelled funny to him, though he had made the dish a hundred times before, so he knew it was fine.
Milo chewed thoughtfully, then nodded once. “Yep, it’s even better than the last time you made it.”
Puck sat up straighter. “Oh, so Ron and I settled on a price today, and I got a really good deal on the sheep. They came with a discount if I included two highland cows as well.”
“Damn it, Puck,” Demarien said. “We’re opening an inn, not a farm.”
“It was a steal.” Puck’s eyes watered, and his bottom lip trembled. “They’re really cute, Demarien.”
“Okay, okay,” Demarien said, wincing at the tears. “We have plenty of acreage, and Boone said he’d help out, so I’m sure it won’t be that bad.”
At the end of the table, Felix raised his glass. “To new sheep and cows.”
“To all the cute animals!” Milo echoed, clinking his glass against Felix’s.
Glasses lifted all around, mostly filled with juice or water, and they clinked them together in a messy, overlapping chorus.
“For real though,” Milo added, lowering his voice slightly as the moment settled, “that vineyard hasn’t been an actual vineyard for fifty years or so. Aunt Dahlia’s brother took care of it until he passed. Now it’s pretty overgrown. I’m sure the grapes are useless.”
“The sheep and I will take care of it,” Puck said confidently.
“So, tomorrow,” Felix said, drawing the word out. “Me, Puck, and Boone will work on the fence and shelters, and you two will work on cleaning the second floor.”
“You sweep and mop, and I scrub and dust?” Milo suggested.
Demarien pumped a fist. “Sounds like a plan. Soon, the inn will look great, and we’ll start bringing in the money.”
“Absolutely,” Milo said. “Just a few more things to go. Windows to fix, a roof to repair, a porch to rebuild.”
“You’re making me depressed.” Puck sighed.
“One thing at a time.” Demarien squared his shoulders, reminding himself that they were doing this together. “We can do this.”
The conversation drifted. Plates emptied, then refilled. Someone turned on music in the background, low enough to talk over but just loud enough to fill the quiet spaces.
At some point, Demarien couldn’t say exactly when, the talking softened. Not because anything was wrong, but because everything felt settled and comfortable.
Milo leaned back, looking around the table. “You know,” he said, “if this is what our lives look like from now on, I’m not hating it.”
Puck raised an eyebrow. “No complaining? Someone write this down.”
“Don’t ruin it,” he said, though he was smiling.
Demarien stood to gather a few plates. “Alright, who’s helping me clean up?”
Silence.
He looked around. “Wow. Incredible. Truly supportive friends.”
Boone pushed his chair back and stood. “I’ve got you.”
After a beat, Puck sighed and followed. “Fine. But I’m not doing dishes.”
“You never do dishes,” Felix called after him.
“And yet I’m still invited,” Puck shot back.
“Debatable,” Demarien muttered, but he was smiling too.
The table slowly emptied, the noise shifting from conversation to clinking plates and running water, but the warmth lingered, telling Demarien he was right where he belonged.