42. Ayla

42

AYLA

I stare out the window, the sound of raindrops pattering against the glass filling the cozy cabin. Rivulets of water stream down the pane, blurring the view of the misty forest outside. “Well, looks like we’re stuck inside,” I say with a playful sigh, trying to mask my secret delight at being forced into close quarters with the men.

Teller cradles baby Piper in his muscular arms, her tiny form looking even smaller against his broad chest. “Let’s get a fire going to warm things up,” he suggests, his deep voice sending a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with the chill.

As Clay and Kip gather an armload of logs from the woodpile, I watch the flex of Teller’s biceps as he gently rocks Piper. Heat pools low in my belly. Get ahold of yourself, Ayla. Now’s not the time, I scold myself, dragging my gaze away.

Soon, orange flames crackle merrily in the stone fireplace, casting the room in a warm, flickering glow. The men’s faces are gilded in the firelight, making them look even more ruggedly handsome than usual. I curl up on the couch and hug my knees to my chest, breathing in the comforting scent of woodsmoke.

As the cabin grows toasty, Teller sinks down next to me, Piper dozing in the crook of his arm. His thigh brushes against mine and I feel the contact zing through me like an electric current.

“She’s out like a light,” he murmurs, gazing down at Piper with a tender expression that makes my heart squeeze. Seeing this hardened man be so gentle with a baby does something to me. Makes me ache for things I shouldn’t…

I clear my throat. “The rain doesn’t look like it’s letting up anytime soon. What should we do to pass the time?” I ask, quirking an eyebrow.

Teller’s green eyes darken as they meet mine, heating with unmistakable intent. “Oh, I’m sure we can think of a few ways to stay...occupied,” he rumbles, his voice dropping an octave.

My breath hitches and I lick my suddenly dry lips. Oh my. Stuck inside with three viral men, a cozy fire, and hours to kill? My mind spins with all the delicious possibilities...

A few hours later once the boys have had their way with me, I’m sucking on a spoon of ice cream when my stomach growls, desperate for something more than a quick, cold sweet treat.

An idea strikes me. “How about a little cooking challenge?” I propose, grinning at Clay and Kip who are seated nearby. “Since we’re stuck inside, might as well make the most of it and whip up a nice dinner from scratch.”

Their eyes light up at the prospect. “I’m game,” Clay says, his deep voice sending pleasant shivers through me.

“Sounds like fun,” Kip agrees, his boyish smile making an appearance.

We all head to the kitchen, Piper now snoozing in her portable crib. I start rummaging through the fridge and cabinets, taking stock of our ingredients. The guys hover nearby, awaiting instructions.

Clay peers over my shoulder, his solid presence both comforting and distracting. “Find anything good?” His warm breath tickles my ear.

“I think we’ve got plenty to work with,” I reply, holding up some vibrant veggies. “Peppers, zucchini, onions, garlic... Oh, and pasta! We could make a tasty primavera.”

“Perfect.” Clay grabs the vegetables and starts washing them in the sink. I try not to stare at how his forearms flex with the motion…

Meanwhile, Kip pokes his head into the pantry. “Ooh, jackpot! I spy some herbs and spices in here. Basil, oregano, red pepper flakes...” He emerges, clutching them victoriously. “What’s our game plan, boss?”

I laugh at his enthusiasm. “Well, I was thinking we could...” I launch into a rundown of the recipe, handing out tasks. The guys listen intently, nodding along.

Soon the kitchen is a flurry of activity - water boiling, knives chopping, pans sizzling. The air fills with delectable aromas of garlic and onions.

Cooking with three gorgeous men is proving to be quite the exercise in restraint. But I’m not complaining. There are certainly worse ways to while away a rainy afternoon…

Clay slides up beside me, holding out an onion. “So, Chef Ayla, care to show me your knife skills?” His voice is low and playful, eyes glinting mischievously.

I arch an eyebrow at him. “Watch and learn, Clay.” Grabbing the knife, I demonstrate, explaining each step. “See, it’s all in the wrist. Quick, even slices.”

He watches intently, then takes the knife. “Okay, let me try.” His brow furrows adorably in concentration as he attempts to mimic my technique. His slices are a bit crooked but passable.

“Not bad for a beginner,” I tease, bumping his hip with mine. He grins, undeterred. In a flash, he’s posing dramatically, knife aloft like a trophy.

“I am the Onion King! Bow before my culinary prowess!” he declares in an exaggerated accent. I burst out laughing and he looks immensely pleased with himself.

Shaking my head in amusement, I turn back to the stovetop, stirring the veggies. Suddenly I feel a light sprinkling on my hair. “Ack!” Whirling around, I see Kip, hand still poised over the flour jar, a very guilty expression on his face. “Kip! You did not just...”

“Oops?” He grins sheepishly. “I swear that was an accident!”

Narrowing my eyes, I dip my fingers into the flour and flick some back at him. It splatters across his cheek. “Oh, it’s on now, Kip!”

And just like that, the flour is flying, white clouds billowing everywhere. We’re all laughing and shrieking, darting around trying to dodge and retaliate. I manage to smear a floury handprint across Clay’s chest. He catches my wrist and tugs me closer, eyes dancing…

From the corner of my eye, I spot Teller perched on a barstool, an amused Piper, who’d woken up from her nap, in his arms. “Having fun?” he calls out dryly. But I can see him fighting a smile.

My cheeks flush, suddenly realizing how ridiculous we must look, covered head to toe in flour like mischievous kids. But I can’t remember the last time I felt this carefree, this uninhibited.

Something about these men makes me want to let loose and just play, without a care in the world. And that both terrifies and thrills me…

A rogue puff of flour smacks me in the face and I sputter, blinking rapidly. I hear Kip’s rich laugh and whirl towards him with narrowed eyes. “You are so dead, mister.”

I lunge for the flour bag but he snatches it away at the last second, holding it high overhead with a wicked grin. Curse his unfairly long arms. He waggles his brows. “What’re you gonna do about it, shortstack?”

I grab a measuring cup and manage to scoop some ammo while he’s distracted by his own smugness. Then I fling the contents right into his stupidly handsome face.

Kip makes an indignant squawk, powder clinging to his lashes, the tip of his nose. I double over wheezing. The sight is too good.

“Nicely done,” Clay approves, shooting me an impressed look as he wipes flour from his cheek. “About time someone took Kip down a peg.”

“Hey!” Kip protests. “I heard that!” He makes to retaliate but I skitter away, using Clay’s broad frame as a human shield.

We’re all breathless now, cheeks flushed and aching from laughter. I feel lighter than I have in ages.

“Alright children, settle down,” Teller calls out, voice tinged with fond exasperation. His blue eyes crinkle. “As entertaining as this is, we should probably focus on actually making dinner sometime tonight, hmm?”

I glance sheepishly at the flour-dusted warzone of a kitchen. Woops. “Uh, right. Dinner. We’re on it, boss!”

Clay and Kip snap to attention and fire off twin salutes. “Sir, yes sir!”

Teller just shakes his head, lips twitching.

With a few more snickers and playful hip-checks, we regroup and get down to business. I start delegating tasks, falling easily into Head Chef mode.

I guide them through the steps, offering tips and tricks I’ve picked up over the years. My mom taught me to cook from a young age, before everything went sideways... I push the gloomy thought away.

No dwelling on the past.

Soon, the kitchen fills with an aromatic symphony - sizzling garlic and onion, bubbling tomato sauce, tender pasta. We work seamlessly together, my enthusiasm spurring the guys on until a full Italian feast takes shape before our eyes.

The aroma of our culinary creation permeates every corner of the cozy cabin, drawing us in like a siren’s song. I can’t help but feel a swell of pride as I watch Clay and Kip set the table, their eyes alight with anticipation.

“I’m starving,” Kip declares, rubbing his hands together. “This smells incredible, Ayla.”

Clay nods in agreement, a grin spreading across his face. “I never knew cooking could be so much fun. You’re a great teacher.”

I duck my head, feeling a blush creep up my neck at the sincere compliment. “Thanks, guys. But it was a team effort. We all pitched in.”

We gather around the table. Teller joins us, settling Piper into her highchair with a tender smile. The little girl babbles excitedly, her chubby hands reaching for the colorful array of dishes.

As we pass around the steaming bowls of pasta and plates piled high with crisp salad, the conversation flows as easily as the wine Kip pours into our glasses. Wine for me anyways, as the men settle for beer.

Laughter punctuates the air, the sound blending with the patter of rain against the windows. I take a moment to savor the scene, committing every detail to memory. The way Clay’s eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. The deep, rich timbre of Teller’s laugh. The mischievous glint in Kip’s eyes as he regales us with a hilarious anecdote.

I watch nervously as the boys take their first bites, hoping they’ll enjoy the meal we prepared together.

Teller’s eyes widen as he chews. He swallows and grins at me, an eyebrow raised. “Wow, Ayla! This is amazing,” he mumbles appreciatively through another mouthful of pasta.

I feel a flush of pride at his words. Coming from a man of few of them, his compliment means a lot.

Clay and Kip are already digging in with gusto, forks clinking against plates as they devour their food. “We’ve got to do this more often!” Clay declares between bites, blue eyes sparkling with delight as he looks up at me. “This is restaurant quality!”

“Seriously, so good,” Kip agrees, reaching for a second helping of salad. “Where’d you learn to cook like this?”

I shrug, feeling both pleased and a bit self-conscious under their enthusiastic praise. Cooking has always been a passion of mine, a way to show love and care for others. I used to make my mom grilled cheese sandwiches when she got sad. I made chicken pot pie when we could afford a little bit more ingredients, which wasn’t very often. But it’s not something I usually get much credit for.

As I watch the boys happily stuffing their faces, laughing and joking together, a sense of warmth spreads through my chest that has nothing to do with the fireplace crackling nearby.

Teller catches my eye from across the table, giving me a small, knowing smile as if sensing my thoughts. Next to him, baby Piper gurgles and reaches a chubby hand toward his plate.

“What do you think, sweet pea?” he coos, scooping up a tiny bit of pasta with his fork. “Want to give Ayla’s cooking a try?”

Carefully, he brings the fork to her rosebud mouth. We all watch, holding our breaths, as Piper considers the offering with a serious expression that looks downright comical on her infantile features.

He lets her get a taste, and with a decisive grunt, she smiles, eyes wide for another.

“Ha! Even Pipes approves,” Kip chuckles as we all burst into laughter at her obvious enjoyment. “Guess that settles it, Ayla - you’re officially the resident chef from now on.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” I demur, but I can’t stop smiling. It’s such a little thing, but Piper’s stamp of approval feels like the highest praise.

“...and then, just as I thought it couldn’t get any worse, a skunk wandered into our campsite!” Clay’s voice rises with animated excitement. “I swear, the smell lingered for weeks, no matter how many times I washed my clothes.”

Kip throws his head back, laughing. “Oh man, I can just picture it! You, stumbling around in the dark, trying to shoo away a skunk.”

The mental image makes me chuckle, and soon we’re all laughing, the sound echoing warmly in the cozy cabin. As the hilarity dies down, Kip leans forward, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Okay, my turn,” he announces. “Did I ever tell you guys about the time I accidentally crashed a wedding reception?”

As Kip launches into his tale, complete with dramatic hand gestures and exaggerated facial expressions, I find myself glancing around the table, more at ease with this family than I ever was with my real one. They include me in their activities, make me feel safe and loved. I didn’t know how starved I was for love until I found myself wrapped up in it.