Page 38 of Pin My Alpha

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I know how this story starts.

Declan sets the pot on the stove. The silence stretches, but it doesn’t seem to bother him. “You can sit down.”

“I’m fine standing.”

“You’ve been on your feet all day.”

I open my mouth, ready to argue, but there’s nothing to fight. He isn’t trying to win. He isn’t trying to do anything but state a fact. It’s infuriating.

I take a stool at the counter, an unwilling guest. Declan moves around the kitchen with an economy of motion that makes the small space seem even smaller. He’s too big for it. His shoulders brush the upper cabinets when he turns, and the dark fabric of his Henley pulls tight across his back. I am performing a visual audit of his operational deficiencies. For business.

My phone buzzes again. Declan glances at my pocket. “You can get that.”

“I know.”

“You don’t have to stay.”

The word hangs in the air. Stay. He says it like I have a choice.

I pull out my phone.

Swipe Squad

Jude:i have chosen the new cover photo for byrnEs socials and it’s shay looking hot while holding a clipboard ??

Benji:delete that immediately

Jude:no ??

Milo:He does look very nice.

Benji:milo you’re supposed to be on my side

Soren:i liked the one where declan was looking at shay ??

Jude:OH MY GOD YES

Shay:I’m muting this chat.

Jude:HE’S STILL THERE ISN’T HE

Benji:can you people smell the desperation through the phone or is that just me

I mute the conversation and slide the phone back into my pocket. The silence that follows is heavy with the smell of garlic and tomatoes.

A few minutes later, a bowl slides in front of me, steaming under a mountain of parmesan. “Taste it before you insult it.”

“I can do both at once,” I say, but I pick up my fork.

“Eat.”

It’s not loud. It’s barely a command, just a quiet rumble under the word, but my body goes still. My hand tightens on the fork. Traitor.

I take a bite.

And, damn it. It’s good. Not just good. It’s the kind of food someone makes when they’re paying attention.

Declan is watching me from across the counter, his expression unreadable.

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