10. Theo #3
She waits until my fingers curl first, then holds me lightly enough that I can leave.
My eyes burn, and I look at the tea tray until the silver edge blurs.
“There’s tea in the kitchen,” Calliope says, her voice low enough for the small space between us.
“I also made lemon bars. Your file said you liked lemon desserts, but files get things wrong sometimes.”
My mouth opens. Lemon. I like lemon. I like sour enough to make my jaw ache, something bright after the Center’s oatmeal and soft bread and over-sweet tea. I want to tell her that. I want one answer to come easy after she gave me room for it, but the sound folds up behind my teeth.
Calliope’s thumb shifts once near my knuckles. “You can nod,” she says, and I nod too fast.
Sloane smiles, then catches himself before it gets too big, his hands staying open on his knees. “I’ll stay behind you,” he says. “Far enough back that you’ve got room.”
Idris sets the teapot down. “I’ll bring the tray and keep to the other side.”
Garrett looks to Andrea and says, “We’ll let Theo set the pace,” and Andrea’s tablet lowers by an inch as she answers, “Of course.”
Calliope starts to stand, and my fingers clamp around hers. She stops immediately. My grip is too tight. I can feel it in the stiff shape of my hand and the way her skin presses against mine. I loosen one finger, then another, while my face burns hotter. Calliope waits until I manage it.
“Do you want me to come with you?” she asks, and I nod, unable to make my mouth work. “Okay,” she says. “We’ll go together.”
Andrea shifts beside me, her sweater brushing the tablet case. “Gentle hands, Theo.” My grip goes loose at once, but Calliope turns her hand under mine before I can pull away completely, catching my fingers without trapping them.
“This is gentle,” she says, looking toward Andrea with a small smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “We’re okay.”
Garrett steps slightly aside to clear the path. “Calliope knows the kitchen best,” he says. “You can stay with her.” I look at him long enough to see the faint warmth in his expression, and my fingers loosen around Calliope’s before I can stop them.
Calliope walks beside me instead of ahead of me. Her hand stays in mine, and I keep my fingers light even when the hallway widens and the house pulls farther away on both sides. The Alphas follow at a distance, close enough that I know where they are without any of them pressing nearer.
The kitchen is bright, all polished counters and clean lines, but pears sit in a bowl on the island, mail is pushed messily to one side, and a cardigan hangs over the back of a chair.
A glass container rests on the counter with powdered sugar dusting the inside of the lid.
Lemon and butter cut through the heavier scents, and my mouth waters before I reach the stool.
Calliope waits until I sit before easing her hand from mine.
Her fingers brush the counter close by as she opens the container and lifts out a lemon bar.
She sets it on a small plate and slides it toward me.
“For the record,” she says, cheeks pink as she leans one hip against the counter, “I bake when I’m nervous.
So you’re not the only one having a morning. ”
I look up as her fingers tap once against the counter, then still.
Sloane’s gaze moves to her and softens so much it hurts to see, and Idris pauses with the tea tray in his hands before setting it down.
Even Garrett stays quiet near the doorway, watching Calliope instead of me for one steady second.
I’ve never once been around a pack that focuses on their Beta like that. It’s… nice.
Calliope gently gestures to the small container as I pick up the lemon bar with both hands.
My fingers shake, but the plate stays where she put it.
The first bite pulls at the corners of my mouth, sweet enough to ache behind my jaw, soft enough to swallow without thinking too hard.
Powdered sugar dusts my thumb, and I stare at it while the taste gives me something simple to do.
Each of the Alphas give me space, remaining where I can see them without making a big deal of it, while Andrea takes the stool closest to the door.
Nobody asks me another question for a while, so I take another bite.
Calliope stays near the counter, close enough that her sleeve rests beside her hand.
I want to touch it again. I want to ask if she always smells like honeyed pear and vanilla tea, if the kitchen smelled like her before I came in, if the lemon bars are for everyone or if she made them after reading my file.
I want to ask how many things I can do wrong before the van comes back and takes me to the Center for more practice.
One look at Andrea tells me that those questions would make her pull me away from them. So, I just keep eating, every now and then glancing at Calliope’s sleeve until I can’t hold back any longer. I shift closer, a small purr rumbling through my chest as my pinky brushes the edge of her sleeve.
Calliope shifts her hand a little closer, my finger curling into the fabric, and I keep my eyes on the powdered sugar dusting my plate as I take another bite.
An appreciative sound pulls from me as I step closer, resisting the urge to turn my face into her shoulder and take a deep breath of the scent I already want to bury myself in.