7 Cheesette & Cheddarbelle’s Fabulous Day

Onyx

Soft laughter floats through the cabin, pulling me from sleep. My arm covers my eyes, and I lay there listening and trying to sort myself out.

Last night after dropping Ember off with Slate and Hazel, I shifted and circled their cabin. With my sensitive wolf ears, I heard flashes of their conversation and it didn’t sound pleasant.

Slate has been my ride-or-die since we were kids, but he is failing to connect with Ember and it makes me heated. She deserves a brother who supports her. And besides, she’s the future Alpha of an ally pack.

But last night, running with her, I knew I was in trouble. She’s going to go home soon, maybe tomorrow, maybe today. And I’m addicted to her. Every wolfish instinct I have pushes me to get close to her. Those animal instincts don’t understand that she’s leaving.

When I make it to the kitchen, wearing only sweatpants low on my hips, Ember isn’t sitting at the table where I expect her to be. Instead, she’s at the kitchen counter with a round of bread dough in front of her. Flour dusts her palms and across her loose t-shirt.

My mother leans over her, murmuring encouragement and instruction as Ember folds the dough and presses it flat with the heel of her hand before turning it and repeating the process.

Her eyes are bright, a soft smile on her lips. This is not the same girl who I kissed at the party. The difference is staggering. I was hoping to draw her attention by showing up half-dressed, but instead she’s got my jaw hanging down as I stare at her.

Scrambling for something to ground myself, I grip the kitchen table and drop into a chair, unable to take my eyes off of her.

“Morning,” she says, glancing over her shoulder at me.

My voice doesn’t catch the first try, but I manage to return the greeting. “How did you sleep?”

“Good,” she says, already focused back on her kneading .

My mother hands her a small knife and draws lines in the dough showing her where to cut. Ember makes three slices up the dough, stopping just short of the top, and then braids it. With a flourish, my mother tucks it into a baking dish and sets it aside to rise.

“Fantastic. You are a natural at this.”

Ember’s eyes widen, as if this is the first praise she’s ever received.

“What did you make?” I ask, dying for a scrap of her attention.

Ember dusts the flour off and slides into the seat across from me. “It’s just a brioche. Hopefully it’s good.”

“It’ll be delicious,” my mom interjects. “You’ve got at least two hours before it needs to go into the oven. I can keep an eye on it for you.” The microwave beeps as she reheats a leftover breakfast sandwich for me. She uses sourdough to make her english muffins, and I’ve loved them since I was a kid.

“Thanks, Mom.” The sandwich is cheesy and greasy with bacon, and I immediately follow it with one of yesterday’s scones, a banana, and a tall glass of milk.

Ember watches me, picking off little chunks of a scone and popping them into her mouth with an amused expression in her eyes. “So what are we doing today?”

“Since I don’t have any patrol duties, I’m not sure.” Rising, I tuck my dishes into the sink. “What do you want to do?”

“You can always help Cedar with chores,” my mother calls from down the hallway .

“That sounds interesting,” Ember says. Her arms fold over her chest and I’m not sure if she’s being sarcastic or not. I know Cedar isn’t her favorite person, but he’s my twin and she’s … something I’m not ready to label.

“Let me show you his garden and we can see if there’s anything fun we can help with.”

She glances at the brioche rising on the counter with a damp kitchen towel draped over it. “I’ll think about it.” That small smirk is back. “Why don’t you put some clothes on? Not everyone wants to see your abs.”

Leaning back in my chair, I grin back, loving every second of this exchange. It would look like nothing at all to anyone else, but I see her opening up and enjoying herself. It’s everything I hoped for.

“We both know that’s not true, but I will anyway, just for you,” I snark back. Striding to my room, I’m surprised her soft footfalls follow me. My heart speeds, but I keep my movements casual.

Stepping into my room, I leave the door ajar, and I can feel her lingering in the hall. “Hoping for a peep show?”

Ember rolls her eyes, stepping into my room. It’s strange seeing her in my space.

“I’m happy to show you anything you want,” I say, twisting and flexing as I reach for a shirt from my dresser.

“You’re delusional,” she says, the beautiful pink tint to her cheeks betraying her, “and messy.” She’s not wrong. There’s a visual divide between my space and Cedar’s. Gingerly, Ember steps over some clothing strewn across the floor.

“I had a feeling you liked video games,” she mutters. While she examines my shelf of game discs, I tug my shirt over my head.

“Would you want to play some time?” I ask, coming up behind her to look over her shoulder.

She tugs a disc from the shelf. “What about this?” It’s a car racing game.

“Really?” I ask.

She tucks the game back with one finger. “Maybe.”

“What about this one?” I yank a zombie game from the shelf.

“No way,” she says, wrinkling her nose and shaking her head so emerald hair cascades over her shoulders.

“Okay, what about…” Holding out Minecraft, I raise an eyebrow.

She tilts her head and stares at it.

“It’s a building game. You really didn’t have much fun growing up, did you?”

Her shoulders slump the slightest amount, but I’m so attuned to her body language by now, it’s a meaningful change.

“I only got to play whatever games Jasper was given,” she says, sighing as she steps back from the shelf.

“We can fix that! We could play today. I have a pair of cat ear headphones that would look great on you. ”

That earns a laugh. “Why do you have those?”

“I’ll have you know, I look great with cat ears,” I say with a grin. “With this game, you can make anything you want. There are different kinds of blocks and-”

“I think I’d rather play the racing game. Those were my favorites,” she says, cutting me off.

“Sure. I’ll get it set up,” I say, reaching for my controllers.

“How about after we do our gardening?” she says, though I see a flash of a smile as she turns away.

Her fingers trail along my shelves as I finally pull on a black hoodie. “Alright,” I say, “I’m all set. How do I look? Like the most handsome man you’ve ever seen?”

She exhales a laugh, shaking her head as she walks out of my room. I follow her back to the kitchen and we wash the breakfast dishes and wipe down the counter. It feels good to work side by side with her.

“Ready to garden?” I ask her.

“If you insist.”

We find Cedar in the center of his vegetable garden, where the long beds are covered in a tunnel of mesh to protect the most delicate of his produce.

“Mom wanted us to come help you.”

Cedar looks up from his work and scowls at us. “You can’t help with this.”

“What are you doing?”

With a dramatic sigh, he brushes the dirt off his hands and stands to face us. “I’m transferring seedlings into the garden. It’s tricky. Their root systems are delicate. ”

“Fine, sorry we wanted to help.”

“Would you guys feed the animals?” He eyes Ember curiously.

Her arms hug her waist defensively, but she nods and takes a measured breath. “I think we can handle that.”

“Great, Onyx knows what to do. Let me know when you’re done.”

I could smack him on the back of his head for being rude, but he gave Ember a chance and she seems interested.

“Alright, let’s start with the chickens,” I say. Ember’s hand flies to her mouth at my words. “Did you not know we had chickens?”

“Yeah, I did. I mean, I heard them. But I didn’t think about visiting them.” Her expression stays neutral but I can sense the excitement bubbling up behind her rambling words.

“The chicken coop is here,” I point to the larger structure beside Cedar’s storage shed. “Come on.”

Her arm brushes mine as we walk the narrow path, and for a moment I almost reach for her hand. Before I can, she moves away.

“Wow, look at them,” she says, peering through the chicken wire.

“Here, grab that bucket,” I say, pointing at a feed tub. “We do two scoops of grain feed, a cup of vitamin powder, and a cup of their supplements.” She holds the bucket while I fill it with scoops of chicken food.

“Now how do we give it to them?” she asks, peering down into the bucket in her arms .

“They have a feeder we have to refill. And we can’t forget their treat.” With a wink, I pull out a bag of dried mealworms.

Ember leans away, nose scrunched and mouth downturned. “Bugs?”

“Yeah, they love them!”

The hens cluck when we duck through the low door and close the wire gate behind us. With practiced movements, I unlatch and pull the lid off the feed silo. Ember bites her lip as she tips the bucket and pours in the hen’s breakfast.

“What do we do with the worms?” she asks, warily eyeing the hens waddling to the feeder.

“Just scatter them,” I say, offering her the bag.

With a grimace, she takes the bag and tips it down so a few mealworms scatter across the floor of the coop. Before she empties the bag, half a dozen hens zero in on the worms and rush toward her. Their wings slap her as they scramble for their favorite treat.

“Onyx, they’re attacking me,” she yelps. Despite her distress, she stays still, letting the feathered chaos batter her calves.

“You’re okay. They aren’t hurting you,” I say in a low, soothing voice. Stepping closer, I plunk the lid back on the feeder and reach for her. My thumbs rub small circles into the curve of her waist while she watches the hens peck the ground around her feet.

“See? Friendly chickens,” I say finally.

“Are they always like this?” she asks, her voice clear despite her eyes being wide .

I can’t help the chuckle that escapes me. “You haven’t been around animals that much, have you?”

“Why would I?” she snaps. “Can you get me out of here?”

“No.” My grip tightens on her waist. “You can do this. They’re just silly, fat birds. And you haven’t finished giving them their dessert.”

“Seriously?” Gritting her teeth, she rotates, emptying the bag out in a wide circle. The rest of the coop joins in on the madness, pecking and clucking excitedly.

It takes a few minutes for the girls to calm down. Ember’s breathing evens out as she stares at the flock.

With one last squeeze, I let her go. “Picada,” I call, looking for my favorite chicken. She sits in a nesting box and watches us, standing when I call her name. Gently, I scoop her up and turn back to Ember.

“This is Piacatta. Here, pet her. She’s very sweet.”

Tentatively, Ember strokes Picada’s feathers.

“See? Nice chickens. They were just excited about breakfast.”

“Do they all have names?” A smile tugs at her mouth and she looks down at the chickens bustling around their little coop.

“This one is Cutlet, and here’s Cacciatore,” I say, pointing out the chickens I’ve named. “Kiev, Curry, Satay, Fricassee, Alfredo, Teriyaki.” Ember lets out a small laugh, but she smothers it with the back of her hand.

“Here, let’s refill their water and go feed the goats. ”

She strokes Picada one last time. I set the hen back in her box, murmuring thanks to her for being such a good girl.

I use the hose to refill the girls’ water before leading Ember over to the goats’ pen. She stops at the fence and rests her elbows against the top.

“The smaller one is Cheesette and the bigger one is Cheddarbelle,” I explain. Cheddarbelle trots over, her soft, brown ears swaying. “They’re Nubian goats. Either Cedar or my dad has already milked them today, so we just need to refill their food and water.”

“You milk them?”

“You haven’t seen my dad’s cheese kitchen have you?”

“His what?”

“Yeah, he makes goat cheese. You’ve eaten some already. But it’s really messy, so Mom doesn’t let him use the normal kitchen. He’s got a whole set up. I can take you there later.”

“You guys are so weird,” she mutters, the slight curve to her mouth giving away her amusement.

After I refill their water, we load up on feed and treats and let ourselves into the goat pen. Cheesette walks out of their goat house and swings her head around to stare at Ember with her rectangular pupils.

“They’re a little creepy,” she says, her voice hushed as if the goats would be offended if they heard.

“Not my baby girls,” I joke, holding my hands over Cheddarbelle’s ears. They’re so long and floppy, they swing below my hands. She shakes her head to knock me away.

“I’m sorry,” Ember says to Cheddarbelle. Pure delight shoots through me that she’s playing along.

“Here,” I thrust an apple slice into her hand. “They’ll love you forever if you give them treats.”

I refill their food while Ember feeds carrots and apple slices to Cheddarbelle. Everything is fine until Cheesette joins in.

“Hi, pretty girl,” Ember coos, petting the smaller goat. Cheesette tosses her head and lurches forward to ram into Ember. “Hey!”

There’s no way I can reach her in time before her ass hits the dirt. Apple slices spill out of the container and both goats help themselves.

“Onyx!” she cries, waving at where Cheddarbelle’s back hoof pins her shirt to the ground. “This is worse than the chickens!”

Shoving the goat aside, I pull Ember up. Half way, she lets out a shriek. “She’s eating my hair!” I freeze, horrified as she wrestles a thick piece of hair out Cheesette’s mouth.

“It’s because you dyed it green. It probably looks like grass to her,” Cedar calls from the fence. He watches our circus with a small smile.

“It doesn’t look like grass,” Ember protests. I can’t help my guffaw at her outrage. She pushes Cheesette away. “No treats for you, you little shithead.”

“Aw, she didn’t mean that,” I say, feeding a carrot to the smaller goat. Ember scowls at me.

“No accountability for being rude to guests? That tracks,” she snaps.

“I’m sorry ,” I drawl .

Her hands shoot up. “Go back to babying your goats.”

Cheesette shoves her nose into my palm, demanding more attention. I feed her my last carrot and give her a good ear rub.

Ember stands at the fence with a small and utterly smug smile on her face. Before I can question her, Cheddarbelle knocks into my back with her front hooves. I stumble forward and catch myself, but both girls are knocking into me with their hooves, trying to climb my back. Twisting, my ass hits the dirt.

“Hey!” I yelp, covering my head with my arms. But the goats both stick their noses in the scoop of my hoodie. Reaching in, I find a couple of apple slices. After the treats are removed and fed to the greedy goats, they leave me alone.

“Did you seriously put apples in my hoodie?” I ask, and Ember bursts into laughter. I vault the fence and grab her around the waist. “I can’t believe you tried to get me mauled by goats.”

“But they’re so sweet, they would never maul anyone,” she says, her voice high. As she laughs, her head tips back. I’m inches from her neck. Dark green waves tumble over her shoulders and down her back. She’s so gorgeous it hurts.

Her hands go to my shoulders to steady herself, and then she’s looking up at me with those eyes framed in dark lashes. She’s stunning when she’s angry or serious, but laughing - laughing Ember is something else entirely .

Despite the fact we are in the garden in the middle of the morning and anyone could see, I can’t help myself. I’m pulled to her. She tips her face, a silent invitation, and our lips meet.

She’s soft and warm, her mouth sliding over mine until her lips part. I love how she tastes like sugar and chocolate. Her fingers thread into my hair and I growl at the light tug as she pulls me closer. Her hips press into mine as I back her into the fence.

I’m lost to the feel of her. It’s everything I remember from our first kiss and more. Pleasure and need mingle with affection. Her nails scrape my scalp as she clings to me, pressed between the fence post and my body.

One arm wraps around her waist to hold her up as her knees weaken. The other goes to the nape of her neck so I can angle her to kiss deeper. She lets out a breathy moan in her throat.

Her leg hikes up on my hip, like she’s trying to climb me. Without thinking, I push my thigh between her legs. She squirms, grinding against me. My hand travels down to her ass, lifting her until she’s half straddling me and my knee hits the fence post.

My mouth goes to her throat, nibbling as I lick and suck my way to the crook of her neck. “Onyx,” she whimpers.

Her hands go to my shoulders, pushing me back. I release her, stumbling back a step as her feet hit the ground again. She grips the fence behind her to stay upright. Her glazed eyes find mine, her chest heaving as she pants .

What did I do wrong?

“We can’t,” she gasps. “Your brother is right over there,” she gasps, tipping her head towards where Cedar is back to transplanting seedlings in the center of the garden. She steps closer again until her breasts brush my chest. “At least we can’t do this here in the middle of your pack’s garden.”

Every thought is wiped from my mind. I want her so badly. This flirtation has built and built until she’s all I can think about.

“Let’s go back to the cabin,” I say, breathless. She nods.

As we walk back to my family’s cabin, I watch her. She glances at me, a small, sweet smile on her face. Her heart-shaped face is flushed and I want to kiss that blush from her nose down her chest.

I want her to stay. She can be happy here. I’ll do everything I can to make sure of it. But she’ll never want to stay when everyone is being cold and judgmental to her. If they can see her the way I do, that might change. She’s already won over my mother. Hazel and Marigold won’t be a problem. Mentally, I make a list of what I can do.

“I smell like farm animals. I’m going to go shower, but I’ll see you after, okay?” she murmurs, slipping into Briar’s room. I stare at the closed door dumbly.

I take the fastest shower of my life, and when I get out, Cedar is back. My mind races with everything I need to say. He sits at the kitchen table dipping vegetables in ranch .

Sitting across from him, I lean forward to get his attention.

“What’s up?” he asks.

“I need you to be nicer to Ember,” I say, trying to keep my cool.

“I am,” he says, frowning at me.

“You’ve kinda been an asshole to her, questioning her every chance you get.” Anger seeps into my tone.

“I’m not doing anything.”

“Oh really? You’ve upset her at least twice, and you’re definitely not being welcoming.”

He watches me for a moment. “Why are you so upset about this?”

“She doesn’t deserve it.” My hands flatten on the table, trying to resist knocking the carrot out of his hand as he crunches another bite.

“She tried to kill you last year. She tried to kill Hazel the year before. She’s been unkind to everyone since she got here,” he says thoughtfully.

He doesn’t see. He’s taking everything at face value.

“She’s trying. She’s just reacting to how we are treating her. She’s been really kind to our sister, to Mom. She’s opening up to me.”

Cedar gives me a long, critical stare. I raise my chin and narrow my eyes, daring him to say something stupid. It’s been years since we actually fought and I’m itching to hit something.

“You’re attracted to her. It’s clouding your judgment. ”

The urge to smack him overwhelms me, but I know it’s logic that will work with my brother. Slowly, I recount what’s happened the last day. “The kind girl who baked with our mother this morning and then helped me with chores, that’s the real her, and if everyone weren’t so fucking judgy toward her, that’s who she’d be all the time.”

“I’m not sure about that.”

He’s impossible.

“Cedar, I swear, if you don’t back me up on this,” I leave the threat hanging. We both know I’d never actually hurt him, but I don’t have a better way to express how important this is to me.

His arms cross and his brows furrow. “Alright. I’ll do my best to be nicer.”

It’s not much, but Cedar always follows through on his promises. If he gives her a chance, he’ll see what I see.

The shower noise from Briar’s room cuts off.

“Thanks, man,” I say to my twin.

“This is really important to you,” he observes.

“Yeah.”

Ember wanders in, wet hair against her neck and fresh clothes on her body. She winces as she slowly lifts the kitchen towel, and then smiles to find the brioche fully risen and ready to bake.

“What temperature?” she mutters, looking for the recipe card.

“Three-hundred and fifty, for forty minutes,” Cedar says without looking up .

Ember swivels and blinks at him. “Thanks,” she says hesitantly.

The oven beeps as she sets the bake temperature. While it preheats, she sits beside me.

Cedar crunches on a piece of celery. “Do you want some veggies?” he asks.

“Um, thanks,” she says, accepting a carrot stick from him.

“Our mom makes the ranch too,” I say, grabbing a celery stick for myself.

Crunching and chewing are the only sounds for a painfully awkward two minutes. I stare at Cedar, willing him to say something. Finally, he does.

“So, did you like the chickens and goats?” he asks.

Ember smiles weakly. “Yeah, they’re cute.”

“They’re great for fresh eggs and milk,” Cedar says, clearly unsure of how to hold a conversation with a girl.

“She met Picada,” I say, proud of my favorite chicken who answers to her name.

“She was sweet,” Ember agrees.

“I saw what you did with the apple slices,” Cedar says, his mouth curving into a smile. “Pretty funny.”

“Oh,” Ember says, her cheeks tingeing pink again. I’m sure we are both having the same thought - was that all he saw? When did he go back to his garden?

We’re saved by the oven chiming. Ember shoots up, peeking into the oven before she slides the brioche in. I can’t help biting my lip as she bends at the waist to center the loaf pan on the oven rack .

Cedar crosses his arms, eyes narrowed at me when I look up.

“So what now? We’ve got thirty minutes,” she says, dusting off her hands.

“Want to pick out a video game?” I suggest.

She props a fist on her hip and raises an eyebrow. “I believe I was promised a tour of a cheese kitchen?”

“If you want to.”

It’s not a quiet bedroom, but I can work with a cheese kitchen.

Ember follows me through the laundry room and into the addition my father built years ago.

“This is not what I expected,” she mutters, the sunlight from the sky lights highlighting her cheekbones and the delicate tip of her nose.

We’re squeezed into a narrow kitchen, standing on sealed concrete floors. Gleaming stainless steel lines the walls, including a commercial triple sink, a wide 8-burner range, and two refrigerators - one to store ingredients and one to age cheese.

Slipping my arm around her waist, I guide her forward, past the row of pots so large a small child could sit inside them.

“Honestly, I don’t know anything about how cheese is made,” she says, slowing her gait so she presses back into me.

I’m surprised at the euphoria that shoots through me at her nearness and the way she smiles at me. I’m thoroughly ensnared, and the danger of who she is and what she’s done is fading away .

“It’s pretty simple. We take the milk, it’s stored in this fridge,” I thump my palm against the closer fridge. “It gets cooked with rennet, which is actually a kind of mold, I think. Cedar can explain that better. Anyway, it forms curds, and we press out the whey which is like water until the curds are solid. It gets dried, aged, or whatever depending on the cheese.”

Her lips part as she listens to me ramble. “That doesn’t sound very simple.”

With a rolling laugh, I herd her closer to the fridge to see what cheeses we can sample. She peers over my shoulder as I pilfer my father’s current stock.

“Here, try this. It’s fresh farmer’s cheese, totally plain.” Prying the lid off of a round plastic container, I grab a spoonful of the spreadable cheese.

Ember hesitates, pressing her lips into a line while she leans away.

“It’s not bad, I promise.”

With a little coaxing, she opens her mouth and takes a small nibble.

“So what do you think?”

“It tastes like milk.” Her eyes open again, flitting from my chest to my face. “I can see how that could be good in a recipe.”

“Yeah, it’s not really a snack cheese,” I agree.

“Got any others to try?”

We try a hard cheddar, a brie-style round, and some mozzarella.

“You can make all these different cheeses from goat's milk?” she asks, popping another pearl of fresh mozzarella in her mouth .

“Yeah. I mean, there’s a flavor difference. But it all depends on what you add and how you treat the milk.”

“Wow,” she says, watching as I sprinkle salt flakes over the last bite of mozzarella and offer it to her. She eats it off the end of the toothpick and runs her tongue over her top lip to get the extra salt.

An alarm buzzes from the house, and Ember’s eyes brighten. “Ready for some bread?”

“Go ahead, I’ll be right behind you,” I say, shoving containers back into the fridge before I can follow her. I’m just in time to watch her tug the oven mitts off of her hands.

Steam trails off the bread loaf, filling the room with the warm, nutty smell. My brother is nowhere to be found, and I’m grateful I don’t have to share this moment with anyone else.

Her eyebrows are raised in a soft expression seeking my approval. Stepping closer, I make a show of inspecting the brioche before saying, “It looks perfect.”

Closing her delicate hand over my bicep, she squeezes excitedly and my heart skips a beat. “Can we slice it right away?”

“It might deflate because it’s really soft right out of the oven,” I say. “Can you wait five minutes?”

She turns, her lip pouting as she frowns. “Fine.”

With a chuckle, I gather up butter, the cutting board, and a bread knife while she watches her bread, hands clasped tightly behind her.

“Alright, it’s probably been long enough,” I concede after a few minutes .

Her teeth press into her lip in the most distracting way as she concentrates on flipping the tin over and dropping the bread onto the cutting board.

“Do you want some?” she asks, dragging the knife through the edge of the bread.

“Abso-fucking-lutely!”

Forget cheese - Ember holding out a slice of fresh bread slathered in butter is one of the most gorgeous things I’ve ever seen. My mouth waters.

Her eyes widen as she watches me take my first bite. Eyes closed, I tip my head back in ecstasy, exaggerating yummy noises so she never doubts how good it is.

She takes her own bite, her cheeks flushed and a shy smile on her face.

“This is the best thing anyone in the world has ever baked,” I say, groaning as I take another bite.

“You’re ridiculous,” she says with a soft chuckle, wiping crumbs away from her mouth with the back of her hand.

“I’m serious. So good,” I add with another groan.

“Yeah, but I’m so full now,” she says, rubbing her belly. “I need a nap.” A yawn proves her point.

I gaze longingly at the steam wafting off the hot bread.

“You can have more bread, Onyx,” she says, smirking. “I know how much you enjoyed it. You could always take a second slice back to your room for some private time. I don’t mind,” she teases.

“Hey!” I scold, my laughter following down the hallway as she disappears .

I can’t resist the second piece she offers, but I eat it over the sink and then wipe the crumbs from our first slices into the trash.

On the way to my room, I hesitate at her door. Her breathing sounds even, so now’s not the time to bother her, no matter how badly I want to.