Ichop the onion into neat slices, the motion familiar after years of cooking for myself. My eyes sting, but not enough to slow me down. On the floor, Mixie winds between my ankles, reminding me that I’m not alone anymore.
The sound of running water from the bathroom cuts off, and my shoulders tense, anticipating the shift in the air that comes with his presence.
As I start on the mushrooms, the floorboards in the hallway creak under Jared’s weight, each footstep drawing closer until he appears.
“Hey.” Jared leans in the kitchen doorway, his hair dark from his shower, droplets still clinging to the ends.
His skin glows pink, and his borrowed T-shirt stretches across his shoulders, the hem riding up toreveal a sliver of stomach when he raises his arm to rub the back of his neck.
The scent of my soap drifts off him, mingling with his natural salt air and driftwood pheromones. The combination twists through me, setting off an unfamiliar flutter beneath my ribs.
He takes in the pile of garlic bulbs and tomatoes waiting to be processed. “Can I help with anything?”
Mixie pads over to him, her tail a question mark as she sniffs his feet, then twines around his ankles in the same figure-eight pattern she uses with me.
My heart squeezes at her immediate acceptance of Jared’s presence. She’d never been as friendly toward Auren or the Alphas he brought into our home.
“No loyalty anymore, huh?” I mutter to the cat before returning my attention to Jared. “Ever made lasagna?”
His face brightens, and he pushes off the door frame, crossing into my space with a confidence that belies the nervous energy vibrating off him. “No, but I can follow directions. I’ve survived on ramen and peanut butter sandwiches long enough to realize how much I still need to learn.”
The admission draws a smile from me, and I slide a second cutting board in front of him. “Startwith garlic. Two cloves, minced fine.” I pass him a knife from the block, handle first. “You know how to mince garlic?”
Jared accepts the knife, his fingers brushing mine in the exchange and sending a spark of heat up my arm. “In theory.”
He sets to work, his brows furrowing in concentration as he peels the papery skin off a clove. His large fingers fumble with the delicate task, but he manages, crushing the clove with the flat of the blade the same way I do.
“Have you watched cooking shows?” I ask, returning to dicing my mushrooms.
“Yeah. My mom’s pack was all Alphas.” Wistfulness flickers across his features. “I used to think not being able to cook came with the designation.”
The mention of his former pack hangs between us, a reminder of what he’s lost. What we’ve both lost.
I resist the urge to ask more, to peel back his layers the way he’s peeling that garlic. Instead, I reach for one of the tomatoes, testing its firmness between my palms.
“We’ll need these diced, too.” I place it beside his workspace. “Not too small. They’ll break down in the sauce.”
“Got it,” he says, absorbing the instruction, then pauses with the knife hovering over the garlic. “Thank you. For this. For letting me stay.”
My knife slows, and the mushroom I was dicing rolls away. “You needed a place.”
“There are motels.”
“Not safe ones.” The words come out harsher than intended, so I soften my tone. “Besides, the guest room was empty. And now that Mixie is home, she’ll have one more person to con extra treats out of.”
As if summoned by her name, Mixie jumps onto the counter, slinking toward the package of ground beef.
“Down,” I command, pointing to the floor. She stares at me, whiskers twitching, then turns to Jared as if seeking a second opinion.
He shakes his head. “Don’t drag me into this power struggle. I know who feeds me.”
A laugh escapes before I can stop it. “Smart man.”
Mixie leaps down with an offended flick of her tail, stalking to her food bowl to paw at it in accusation.
“She’s dramatic,” I explain, adding my veggies to the bowl on the counter. “Like her namesake.”
“Mixie was named after someone?” Jared asks,his hands working with more confidence now, the tomatoes yielding under his blade.