Page 26 of What We Don't Say: Part One

The kitchen is bright, all polished counters and clean lines, but pears sit in a bowl on the island, mail is pushed messily toone side, and a cardigan hangs over the back of a chair. A glass container rests on the counter with powdered sugar dusting the inside of the lid. Lemon and butter cut through the heavier scents, and my mouth waters before I reach the stool.

Calliope waits until I sit before easing her hand from mine. Her fingers brush the counter close by as she opens the container and lifts out a lemon bar. She sets it on a small plate and slides it toward me. “For the record,” she says, cheeks pink as she leans one hip against the counter, “I bake when I’m nervous. So you’re not the only one having a morning.”

I look up as her fingers tap once against the counter, then still. Sloane’s gaze moves to her and softens so much it hurts to see, and Idris pauses with the tea tray in his hands before setting it down. Even Garrett stays quiet near the doorway, watching Calliope instead of me for one steady second.

I’ve never once been around a pack that focuses on their Beta like that. It’s… nice.

Calliope gently gestures to the small container as I pick up the lemon bar with both hands. My fingers shake, but the plate stays where she put it. The first bite pulls at the corners of my mouth, sweet enough to ache behind my jaw, soft enough to swallow without thinking too hard. Powdered sugar dusts my thumb, and I stare at it while the taste gives me something simple to do.

Each of the Alphas give me space, remaining where I can see them without making a big deal of it, while Andrea takes the stool closest to the door.

Nobody asks me another question for a while, so I take another bite. Calliope stays near the counter, close enough that her sleeve rests beside her hand. I want to touch it again. I want to ask if she always smells like honeyed pear and vanilla tea, if the kitchen smelled like her before I came in, if the lemon bars are for everyone or if she made them after reading my file. I wantto ask how many things I can do wrong before the van comes back and takes me to the Center for more practice.

One look at Andrea tells me that those questions would make her pull me away from them. So, I just keep eating, every now and then glancing at Calliope’s sleeve until I can’t hold back any longer. I shift closer, a small purr rumbling through my chest as my pinky brushes the edge of her sleeve.

Calliope shifts her hand a little closer, my finger curling into the fabric, and I keep my eyes on the powdered sugar dusting my plate as I take another bite. An appreciative sound pulls from me as I step closer, resisting the urge to turn my face into her shoulder and take a deep breath of the scent I already want to bury myself in.

Sloane

The scent buffer dries tight against my throat, thin enough that I can still feel my Alpha pressing under it and strong enough to keep him from filling the kitchen every time Theo looks scared. I hate the faint film on my wrists. I hate the way it makes my own body feel muffled. I put it on anyway after Garrett handed it to me with Theo already on the way, and now I’m sitting at the far end of the island with both feet planted, my hands around a mug I haven’t taken a sip from, trying to look like a man who knows how to stay still.

Theo is still working through the lemon bar Callie gave him. He has powdered sugar on one thumb, crumbs on the edge of his plate, and two fingers hooked in the cuff of Callie’s cardigan like he’s pretending he isn’t holding on. Callie stands beside his stool with one hip against the island, close enough for him to reach without making a display of leaving herself there.

“There are napkins right there,” she says, tapping the counter once beside a folded stack. “And more lemon bars in the container. The second one’s sweeter, so you might want tea with it.”

Theo’s eyes flick to the napkins. His fingers tighten in her cuff before he reaches with his free hand, then stops halfway there and glances toward Andrea.

Andrea looks up from the tablet balanced against her knee. “Just like we practiced, Theo. Ask or point.”

The napkin is four inches from his hand. I see the way the instruction changes his shoulders, how his whole body pauses around the shape of a task that was simple before it had rules attached. My fingers tighten around the mug, and Idris’ gaze cuts toward me from the other side of the island before I can make the ceramic complain.

Theo points instead of speaking. Callie slides the napkin closer like it’s the most normal thing in the world, her hand smooth and unhurried as she leaves it near his plate.

“There you go,” she says.

His hand closes around it, and the breath he lets out is small enough that I almost miss it. Callie doesn’t. Her smile widens, bright and open, and Theo sees it before he looks back down at his plate. The tips of his ears go red.

Garrett stands near the kitchen entrance with his jacket unbuttoned, attention moving between Theo and Andrea. “Is the kitchen still working for you, Theo, or would you rather try somewhere with less noise?”

Theo looks at the hallway, then at Callie’s sleeve. The room waits without going silent enough to feel like an exam. Idris moves a glass away from the edge of the counter with two fingers, easy enough that it reads as tidying rather than intervention, and Callie nudges the lemon bar plate half an inch closer to Theo’s elbow.

“Kitchen,” Theo whispers.

Garrett nods. “Kitchen it is.”

Andrea’s stylus taps once against the tablet screen. “Good.”

Theo’s hand jumps at the sound. His fingers slip from Callie’s cuff to the hem of her cardigan, then wander higher, careful as a secret, brushing the seam near her wrist. Callie keeps talking to Garrett about which plants are alive in the sunroom, but her face changes the second Theo touches her again. She beams before she can stop herself, and Theo freezes with his fingers still in the knit.

I set my mug down before I grip it any harder. “Do you need anything over there?” I ask, keeping my voice low enough that it won’t drag him across the room toward me. “Water? More room?”

Theo looks at me for half a second, then back at Callie. His mouth twitches like an answer gets close to forming and loses its way.

Andrea shifts on her stool. “Words if you can, Theo.”

Whatever almost happened on Theo’s face disappears.

Idris sets his hand against the back of the chair beside him. “Andrea.” He waits until she looks at him, his posture still and his voice even. “He heard the question.”