Chapter Fifteen

Poe

Wolf males can't cook. Or at least, those I knew growing up did not. Even if they had the ability, the males were far too busy to take time from their masculine pursuits to so much as make toast. It was one of the reasons I had no interest in anyone from the pack I grew up in. Life was too short to spend it sitting at home and waiting on someone who was perfectly capable of making their own damn toast.

Not that I had an opinion.

But having watched my mother serve my father as if he was the center of her world and have no life beyond our home made an impression on me. Not a happy one. I'd learned since leaving home that not every male wolf was a misogynistic asshole, and my father was less awful than most, but what I had known made me less attracted to my own kind than I might have been. And my expectations were low for what a male was willing to do. It might well have played a role in how picky I was on the app.

It never occurred to me that I would be greeted in the demons' home by such a wonderful homemade meal. They had teased about how they were shopping and getting ready, but I still pretty much expected takeout. Because they were guys.

But the meal they served me was chef worthy. And I kind of loved that they served it in the cozy kitchen instead of a more formal dining room. The small table was set with nice plates and silverware, but the food would never have fit there. Grendel was laying out a buffet on the island in the middle of the room. A rib roast, browned and crisp on the outside, glistening with juices was waiting to be carved. Baked sweet potatoes were piled on a platter next to asparagus topped with grated parmesan. If the scent in the kitchen offered any indication, the golden-brown rolls were home baked, and there was even a blackberry cobbler for dessert.

For all my fussing about how men didn't cook, I rarely did either. Mom had taught me how, but my podcast took most of my time, and what I had left I preferred to use to spend time with friends or read a good book. So, I ate a lot of eggs. And quesadillas. And ramen. And…not proud of it, especially as a shifter who probably should eat more protein…cereal.

"You made all this for me?" I swallowed back tears that I'd never seen coming. "Nobody else is expected?" There was a fourth chair at the table, but only those three places set.

"Gren was very excited to do it. He's a closet chef, but he usually only has me to cook for and I'm anything but a gourmet," Hemlock said. "He says I shovel in whatever without slowing down enough to even taste it."

"Right," grunted the chef, who was currently carving slices of medium-rare roast. "Bring me the plates."

They were so funny together, but before I could reply, my stomach gave a loud rumble and I grabbed for my middle, humiliated. "I'm sorry. I-I didn't stop to eat along the way because I didn't want to be late." Not that I'd given them an exact time, but they'd been so concerned about me making the drive.

"You didn't have lunch?" Hemlock's horror clung to his words. "You can't do that."

My hackles rose, but I could see the worry in his eyes, and in Grendel's as well. Hackles down. They weren't trying to boss me; they just wanted me to be well. And telling them that I missed meals fairly regularly when I got busy was only going to upset them more. "Okay. I won't do it anymore, then." I took the plate Hemlock handed me, piled with the mouthwatering selections.

A tension that rose in the room along with a tinge of something burning when I admitted skipping a meal eased at my agreement. What was that?

The two demons sat down with their own plates, but they didn't lift their forks, so I waited to see if they maybe had some kind of a custom or maybe said a few words before eating, but no… After a long awkward moment, Hemlock cleared his throat and said, "After you."

"Our guest," Grendel added.

"I'm sorry!" I was keeping them waiting while they were showing good manners. My cheeks burned. "You probably think I never go out in public." Truth…I didn't often. My work tended to keep me at home.

"You don't have to apologize," Hemlock protested. "We are just trying to be gentlemen. Please, eat?"

"Of course." I scooped up a bite of buttery sweet potato. "Mmm."

Once I was eating, they dug in, and there was no more conversation for a few minutes. Hemlock really did "shovel" it in, but since I was not doing much better, I didn't have anything to say about that.

What I did want to comment on was the quality of the food. "This is incredible." I pushed my plate away and leaned back. "I'm stuffed."

"You haven't had dessert though." Grendel looked so distraught. "And after skipping lunch…"

I wasn't sure how skipping lunch affected eating dessert, but before I could reply, his friend said, "Let's take dessert in the living room and have it in front of the fire."

"Great idea." Grendel was already on his feet. "You two go on in and I'll put everything else away then bring out dessert in there. Vanilla ice cream okay?"

I didn't have room for a grape, but I nodded and followed Hemlock out of the room. "Shouldn't we help clean up?" I whispered, feeling like I needed to keep it low.

"He will just put the leftovers in the fridge, and I'll sneak back and take care of the rest later."

However they wanted to do it in their house…