Page 27 of Run Wild Omega

“Good. You want pancakes?”

“Always.”

She smiles and disappears into the kitchen. She brings back a stack of fluffy buttermilk pancakes, drowned in butter and syrup, with a side of crispy bacon. It’s comfort on a plate.

I eat slowly, savoring every bite, and pull out my phone. I hit Mara’s name on FaceTime.

It rings three times before she answers.

The screen fills with her face. She’s lying on a pile of pillows, her hair a tangled halo around her head. Her eyes are glassy, and her skin is flushed pink.

“Tess!” she whispers. “Hey!”

“Hey.” I lower my voice. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No, no. We’re just… relaxing.” She giggles, a sound that is entirely too breathless.

Behind her, I see the generic art of a hotel room wall. “How’s Denver? How’s Daniel?”

“He’s good.” She bites her lip, her eyes darting to the side. “The deposition went well. Jonathan looked like he wanted to vomit.”

“Good. He deserves it.”

Just then, a deep, familiar rumble comes from off-screen. “Ready for round two, baby?”

I freeze with a forkful of pancake halfway to my mouth.

Mara turns bright red. She covers the camera with her hand, but I can still hear her muffled scolding. “Daniel! I’m on the phone!”

The screen jostles, and then my brother’s face fills the view. He’s shirtless, his hair damp, looking ridiculously happy and incredibly well-kissed.

“Sorry, Tess,” he says, not looking sorry at all. “We’re celebrating the victory.”

“I gathered. Gross, Daniel.”

He laughs. “Love you too, sis. Is everything okay there? You need anything?”

“I’m fine. I’m at the café eating pancakes.”

“Good. Stay out of trouble.”

“You too. Put your clothes on.”

He winks and vanishes. The camera focuses back on Mara, who is currently hiding her face in a pillow.

“I’m so sorry,” she mumbles into the fabric.

“Don’t be.” I take a bite of pancake. “You’re glowing, Mara. It’s disgusting knowing why.”

She pulls the pillow away, grinning. “I know. I’m sorry. I miss you, though.”

“I miss you too. Come home soon. Leo is driving Mrs. Lacey crazy without you to distract him.”

“I will. Tomorrow night.”

We talk for another ten minutes—about the Lodge, about the tourists, about nothing important—but the longer we talk, the more the restlessness creeps back in. I feel it in my fingers, in my feet. The urge to get up and go.

When we finally hang up, the café feels smaller than before.