Chapter 12
Chapter
Twelve
Axel browned the short ribs hard in a steel pan, then set them in the oven.
The recipe had called for wine, but Reese was pregnant, so he used stock instead.
He set the table by the window for two while listening to Miles Davis.
As the short ribs cooked, the rich smell of the braise slowly filled the apartment.
Her text pinged on his phone. Here.
He went downstairs and found her at the building’s street entrance. She had a Sweet Summit box balanced on one hand. “It’s a blackberry-lavender galette. I was going to get apple pie, but Brie talked me into it.”
He walked her up. At his door she went in ahead of him and took in the apartment with a slow glance, lingering on the record wall and the windows before turning back toward the kitchen.
“It smells so good in here. What are you cooking?”
“Short ribs, handmade pasta, and crusty bread.”
“That sounds so good right now.” She set her purse on the couch and examined his record collection. “This is impressive.”
“I’ve been collecting them for a long time.”
She came into the kitchen and looked at the pot through the oven glass and the mound of flour he’d staged on the counter for the pasta dough. Her eyes did the inventory and came back to him. “Give me a job. I’m not letting you wait on me like at the lake.”
He gave her the dough and showed her how to fold it, then how to run it through the pasta machine. She fed the sheet through while he caught it. They stood close, her shoulder brushing his arm. He could smell her—lilac, clean cotton, and something warmer underneath. His inner wolf purred.
He cut the sheets into wide ribbons. She asked where he learned how to make homemade pasta, and he told her the truth: a worn cookbook from a library sale and a hundred failed attempts since moving into this apartment.
He dropped the pasta into the pot and returned the water to a boil.
He worked quickly to finish the meal after that.
He took the short ribs out of the oven and lifted the pasta out of the water.
He then mixed the pasta with the pan juices.
She stood off to the side with her hip against the counter, watching him cook.
He grabbed some shallow bowls from the cabinet, divided the pasta between the bowls, placed the meat on top, and spooned the last of the braising liquid over both.
He added a little parsley and black pepper.
He carried the bowls to the table while she followed with glasses of iced tea.
They ate with Main Street going dark below.
The short ribs fell apart under his fork, rich and tender, the sauce clinging to the pasta with garlic and the deep salt of the meat. Reese took the first bite and went quiet. Her eyes closed for a second. Then she took another bite, slower this time, like she wanted to understand every part of it.
Axel watched her shoulders loosen, watched her attention settle on the bowl, watched the stress leave her face while she ate something he had made for her. Pride moved through him. She liked his cooking. He wanted to cook for her again.
She finished what was in her bowl, and Axel slid the last piece of short rib onto her plate.
Reese looked at it, then at him. “How did you know I was eyeing that?”
“I take feeding you very seriously.”
She laughed and cut into the rib with the side of her fork. “You cook like one of our Saturday guys. He salutes the ticket rail before every rush, like he’s reporting for duty.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Not at all. He’s completely serious about it. Every Saturday. Hand to forehead. Then he starts cooking. How about you? Do you have any crazy coworker stories?”
“Ryder narrates drone footage in a documentary voice.”
She looked up. “Ha!”
“He’s like... ‘Here we see the elusive subcontractor in its natural habitat.’”
She kept laughing.
“Dom made him stop doing it on open comms.”
When they were done, they carried the bowls to the sink. He cut the galette into thick wedges and set them on dessert plates. Then he crossed to the record wall and ran a finger along the spines until he found the one he wanted.
“This calls for something special,” he said. “To match the blackberries.”
He slid the sleeve free. Miles Davis, Kind of Blue.
He set the vinyl on the platter, brushed it once, and lowered the needle. Static whispered through the speakers. Then the bass came in, steady and low, followed by piano and a warm, muted trumpet. The music filled the room.
“That’s nice,” she said quietly.
“It is.”
Main Street glowed beyond the windows as they sat back down to eat the blackberry and lavender galette.
The crust shattered delicately under his fork, buttery and crisp, giving way to warm berries that burst sweet and tart across his tongue.
The lavender lingered underneath it all, faint and floral, softening the sharpness of the fruit.
“I’m going to ask for one thing tonight,” he said after they finished their dessert.
“Okay.”
“Dance with me.”
“Hmmm.” She shook her head, pink rising in her cheeks.
“It’ll be fine,” he said, standing. He offered his hand.
She took it and followed him to the middle of the living room. Her cheek found his sternum. His hand spread at the small of her back, and the curve of her belly pressed lightly between them. His wolf purred happily with contentment. They turned slowly through one song and into the next.
She looked up, rose onto her toes, and kissed him.
He kissed her back. Her mouth was soft and certain and tasted like blackberries, and her fingers slid up into his hair.
Desire surged through him like a current finding ground.
His hand came up to her jaw, and her heartbeat climbed under his palm.
His inner wolf howled, demanding his mate.
He broke the kiss and stepped back. One full step, his hands leaving her, the hardest thing he’d ever made his body do.
“There’s something I should tell you. Back when we matched, I figured out who you were pretty quickly.
Blaze recognized your photo. I knew your name and where you worked before you ever came into my office.
” He shrugged slightly. “I never did anything with it. You didn’t answer my message, and then you showed up needing help.
After that it just seemed irrelevant. But I’d rather say it than keep it a secret. ”
The record turned. She looked at him for a long moment.
“I don’t care about any of that.” She closed the space between them and kissed him again.