“You let Colby threaten him too?”
The last thing she needed was to believe she could be Clay’s mini-me and start intimidating people.
“Uh, no.” She bristled. “I like Aedan.” She cut him a glare. “I explained the shop stuff to him.”
“Oh.” I rubbed my face. “Sorry.” I dropped my hands. “My brain hasn’t caught up with me yet.”
“You never hit REM.” Clay chuckled. “You’ve got a hangover.”
“Is that a thing?” I squinted at him. “And if so, how do I get rid of it?”
“I would say get more sleep, but we both know that won’t happen. Food is the next best cure.”
“Food sounds good.” I winced. “Sorry I flaked on breakfast.”
“I’ve gotten lazy.” He blew off my apology. “I should be helping you out in the kitchen, not leaving you with groceries and a wish list.” He took my hand. “Come on, Dollface. Let’s eat.”
He shoved me into a chair at the table then served me a pile of amorphous blob pancakes.
“These look…” I angled my plate, “…delicious.”
“They’re moths,” Colby whispered in my ear. “Those are blueberries for eyes.”
That explained the sensation I was being watched by my breakfast. “Obviously.”
Obvious, if you slapped batter into the frying pan with the force of a bug splattering on the windshield.
“Actually, they’re Ace’s face.” Clay served Asa, who sat beside me. “How do you not see that?”
“The blue eyes must have thrown me off,” I said dryly. “Sorry for the confusion.”
“I considered using olives or grapes to really nail the green, but then I thought—who would eat that?”
“I thought they were turtles.” Asa studied his plate. “Or air balloons.”
I smothered a laugh as I drowned our pancakes in syrup and speared a bite heavy with blueberries.
“These are phenomenal,” I mumbled around my fork. “What recipe did you use?”
Cookbooks littered the counter, but that was nothing new. I was always on the hunt for a new favorite recipe.
“This one.” Clay tapped the side of his head. “I might be willing to share, if you’re nice to me.”
“I make no promises.” I noticed Asa watching me eat. “How is this still a thing?”
Aside from doodling in the syrup with his fork, he hadn’t done more than sip his black coffee.
“You know we’re compatible,” I continued. “What other purpose does sharing food serve?”
“He won’t get any better until you mate him.” Clay sat down with a clang of silverware. “It’s instinctual.”
Ignoring the mate comment, I considered the issue. “I won’t change on a cellular level overnight.”
Compatible today, compatible tomorrow.
“Um.” Clay shoveled eggs into his mouth until he sported chipmunk cheeks. “Mph-nft.”
“Asa?” I sliced a wedge loaded with butter and syrup, stabbed it with my fork, and held it to his lips. “Explain this to me.”
