My brother in law was, all lumberjack vibes and quiet intensity, gripping the mixer like it was a battle ax.
Me? I was melting chocolate and butter in a saucepan with as much focus as if it were explosives.
If any omega had dared peek back in, they’d have fainted. Two wolves in their prime, shirt sleeves rolled up, shoulders broad and stubbled jaws set in determination—cooking soufflés for the women who’d owned us.
Hell, even I would’ve swooned if I wasn’t me.
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We worked in sync, surprising even me. I folded the melted chocolate into the yolks, watching it turn glossy and rich. Stan slowly poured sugar into the whites as he beat them, his expression dead serious, like stiff peaks were a matter of honor.
After a while, I asked, “So… what’d you tell Aurora you were doing?”
Stan ra
