“Alek doesn’t like that word, remember?” Nik said with a smirk.
I raised an eyebrow, my tone firm. “My house, my rules, and I don’t see the old man, do you?” I challenged.
They both began laughing. I threw a towel at Ivan. “Your brother drew blood. Better see to that.”
“Fucker,” Ivan snarled, putting the towel to his lip.
“I suppose the two of you are hungry and expect me to cook you something, since you’re incapable of even putting the kettle on properly,” I retorted, my tone laced with irritation.
Opening the refrigerator, I took stock of some of our possibilities. I grabbed the bacon I had planned to use for tomorrow and quickly pivoted, deciding we’d have breakfast for dinner.
“You cook?” Ivan’s voice rang out with curiosity, sounding strangely like a little kid.
I sighed, my annoyance momentarily overshadowed by the absurdity of his question. “Yeah, since I was ten. It’s a skill you should probably look into,” I answered dryly.
Casually leaning back against the counter, he dabbed at his lip, drawing my eyes to them. Damn, maybe I definitely should have kissed those instead of his tattoo. And, of course, since my mind went there, I had to look at it. He flexed the muscles on his forearm, making it ripple and causing me to gasp.
A flicker of amusement danced in his eyes. “You give lessons?” he inquired, his voice dripping with playful innocence.
“Nope, only ballet, and I’m fresh out of extra tutus and slippers.” I’d pulled the cast iron skillet from under the cabinet and twirled it in my hand as I glared at Ivan.
“Why did you leave?” Nik asked.
He’d taken a seat at the table, and my breath caught in my throat. He was sitting in Owen’s chair. From the look on my face, he must have realized it. He quickly got up and resituated himself in a different one. Ivan took one of the empty ones, and I turned back to cooking.
“I don’t have gluten-free, fat-free, or vegan options. Sorry if you’re into that,” I said, trying to calm my racing heart.It’s just a chair, Kinsley.
“It’s fine. Whatever you make is good,” Nik said softly, seemingly sensing my discomfort. I was glad he didn’t make a big deal out of it.
The kettle let out a piercing whistle, cutting through the silence that had settled in the kitchen. I moved swiftly, turning off the stove and carefully moving it. With a sense of detachment, I placed three cups on the table.
Their eyes followed my every move as I went through the motions. Gathering the tea container, milk, and sugar, I breathed deeply, allowing the familiar weight of the items to ground me.
“Baby girl,” Nik drawled, his timbre laden with wonder. “You know what it takes to make a proper cup of tea? Hell, you even have the top brands. Impressive.”
“I’m cultured, what can I say?” The sarcasm dripped. “How do you like your eggs, or would you prefer pancakes? That’s what’s for dinner. Take it or leave it.”
“Scrambled,” they both called out, making me laugh. I should have left them to fend for themselves, but they’d probably starve.
The more I moved around the kitchen, the more controlled I became. I found solace in the familiarity of cooking for someone other than myself. It was a natural thing for me—at least in this space, it was.
How many meals had I cooked at this very stove for Owen? Too many to count. The clattering of pots and pans, the wash-as-you-go system I’d been taught, and the sizzling sounds filled the space, providing me some clarity.
As I cooked, my focus shifted solely to the task at hand. I didn’t have to wonder why the hell two Kings were present and accounted for while the third was glaringly missing. I didn’t have to think about what they wanted from me now. I channeled my energy into the food before me. Once it was all ready, I carefully arranged everything on the table, fighting back a sob as I almost set a place for Owen. I had to turn to compose myself.
“You’re excellent at multitasking. This looks wonderful. Thank you,” Nik said. I nodded at him and took a seat at the table. After a few minutes, Nik asked me, “Why are you hiding up here?”
Damn him and his stubbornness. My eyes flashed to his tattoo. It was fitting that it was a crow. Crows were intelligent creatures, with proportionally big brains. Nikolai King was nothing if not intelligent.
“Who says I’m hiding, Crow?”
My fork pierced through the pancake on my plate. I took a deliberate bite, avoiding his gaze as I savored the smooth texture of the maple syrup.
“You even eat beautifully,” he crooned, which caused me to whip my eyes open and glare at him.
I wanted to shove the entire pancake in my mouth in response and only barely refrained from doing so. Knowing him, he’d whisper “atta girl,” followed by some strange King-like sexual innuendo.
“You told Sarah you needed to get away, called into work, and in case you didn’t realize, you’re about two hours away from home,” he pointed out, his voice once again insistent on pressuring me.