Chapter 52
“Ugh…” I groaned as I pushed myself even further. My legs didn’t like me right now, and I couldn’t even blame them. I winced as another stab of pain shot up my right calf. The pain didn’t stop as I moved, coming with every single step.
Almost there, Lucky, my wolf urged me. It’s only going to make us stronger.
That spurred me on and before I knew it, I was finally standing right outside the door.
I raised my left arm, using it to support the right one as I pushed the door open. The first thing that hit me when I stepped inside was the warm, delicious smell of butter, garlic and rosemary.
I paused and sucked in a breath, taking in the scent. Someone was cooking up a storm.
“Polin…” I started to call, but stopped. She only came in the morning and this was… I checked my watch. It was 6:17pm. That couldn’t be Polin. Then who? Definitely not George. That old man didn’t have enough patience to cook anything.
The scent snuck through the air, down the hall and straight into the pit of my stomach, causing it to growl. I dropped my bag by the door and let my stomach lead me.
Familiar laughter drifted from the kitchen. I could hear Aaron saying something in a warm tone, and George responded in his usual low, gruff voice.
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I paused at the kitchen door, watching them for a bit. George sat in his wheelchair, glass of wine in his hand, lips curled up into a smirk. I knew if Polin were here she’d snatch that glass from him and replace it with water.
Aaron, stood in front of the stove, back turned to me. The sleeves of his gray shirt were pushed up, revealing muscles that flexed as he stirred something in the pan. He wore a black apron with something written by the side. When he moved to check the pot on the next burner, I caught a glimpse of it.
Kiss the cook.
I blinked, because surely, I’d misread it. But nope… Kiss the cook was definitely printed on Aaron’s Apron. I slapped a hand against my mouth to stifle a giggle.
But George heard me. “Jane dear,” he chuckled, lifting his glass to his lips. “You look like you wrestled a bear and lost.”
I gave him a tired smile. “Not a bear. Just Becca.”
Aaron turned then. His eyes softened immediately. He abandoned his position at the stove and walked over. He wiped his hands on a towel before cupping my face. Aaron didn’t even say anything. He just kissed
- me.
I instantly forgot about the pain in my limbs. I leaned into him, moaning slightly into his mouth. He tasted just like the kitchen smelled, butter and delicious spices.
George cleared his throat… loudly. “Alright, alright. Get a room.”
I pulled back, cheeks hot, trying and failing to fight back a grin. “Hey.”
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“Hey yourself.” He pecked me on the cheek before returning back to the stove. “You should learn to mind your business, old man.”
“You shouldn’t conduct your business out in the open then.”
“At least I can conduct business.”
“Ha! I was a lot more popular with the ladies when I was your age.”
I held a hand up and entered the kitchen. “I can’t hear anymore of this please.”
Aaron turned to me with a smile. His eyes drifted down my scar–free body. “You’re sweating. Did you suffer enough today? Or do you want me to crank up the heat so you can burn a little more?”
George groaned and slapped a hand over his ears like a petulant child. “For the love of all that is decent, stop.”
I giggled. It was nice teasing George. He always took the bait. I settled into the chair next to George. “Why are you home early?” I asked, eyeing Aaron as he turned back to the stove. “And cooking? I didn’t know you cooked.”
He shrugged. “It’s not really a big deal. I’ve always cooked. I’m the oldest of six… someone had to keep the little pups alive. The food in London was fun, but my siblings always wanted other things.”
My mout flew open. “You grew up in London? Six siblings?”
George snorted into his wine. “Amateur. I’ve got eight. Buggers are still alive. If you two keep going like this, you’ll catch up in no time. Ten could be the magic number.”
