Chapter 6

6

TATIANA

A pparently death did nothing to curb the sensation of hunger, because Tati was fucking famished.

She'd woken up with the long, lean body of Atticus pressed against her back, and William, still in his dog form, curled up on top of the thick blanket beside her.

It had taken her a moment to piece together the night before, and when she had… fuck if her skin hadn't heated at the memory of what it had been like to share them.

She hadn't died a virgin – no, she'd had her fair share of intimate relationships. But nothing compared to what she'd experienced. The contrast between the two men, the way that William had descended into peaceful surrender at Atticus' hand, the way that both of them had approached her body with nothing but eagerness, drawing more pleasure out of her than she'd ever experienced.

She'd carefully climbed out from between them, slipping on William's discarded white pirate shirt. The hem reached her mid-thigh — good enough.

And now she stood in the most stunning kitchen she'd ever seen with a singular mission: making herself something to eat.

The kitchen in the dark, gothic monstrosity where these two men lived was something that was too good for the earth. It was too efficient, too beautiful, to have been created by the limitations of the mortal mind.

She rummaged through the cabinets, finding every cooking utensil she could possibly imagine, but nothing in the way of ingredients. Frowning, she wracked her brain, trying to think of where two dead men would keep flour.

When a bag of flour appeared on the counter in front of her, she had to blink twice. Hesitantly, she poked at it. Yes, it was real, and yes, unless she was mistaken, it had appeared out of thin air.

She focused her mind on a particular Irish butter that she was fond of baking with and–

"Fuck yes!" Tati grinned at the paper-wrapped bundle on the counter, and spent the next minute working her way systematically through each ingredient that she needed.

Once the items were all assembled, the familiar dance began.

Tati could still remember the first time she'd ever tasted pie. It was her mom's homemade chicken pot pie with a flaky crust, and she'd decided then, as a four year old, that pie was the best food in the whole wide world.

Every year for her birthday she'd requested lemon pie. She'd gotten to crumble the graham crackers for the crust, beating the plastic bag with a rolling pin to the beat of whatever ABBA song was blasting from the old boombox in the kitchen. Money was tight, so the indulgence of having pie for her birthday always felt special.

Later, when Tati got a job at the front desk of the local Jewish Community Center, she'd take four dollars from her paycheck every Friday and treat herself to a slice of banana cream pie from Sally's Diner.

The cook, an old man named Russell, must have noticed her wistful staring as they rolled out the pie crust, because one day they offered her a job as an apprentice baker. The pay had been shit, but she'd managed to work around school and her other job, piecing together a few hours a week of learning the craft of pie baking.

Of course, then college graduation came and it was time to dive into her full time career in sales. But there was a dream lingering on the fringes of her life: opening a bakery entirely devoted to pie. Savory and sweet pies for all occasions. She'd even picked out a name – Slice of Life , and she'd sketched the letters out in the margins of meeting agendas, trying out different font combinations.

Now, she prepped two pie dishes with a flaky crust and then moved onto the fillings. One would be a pork sausage, wild mushroom, and root vegetable pie, while the other would be a classic blueberry.

This was the dream , she thought, her hands busy and her mind perfectly at ease. She hummed absently, letting herself imagine that this might have been her life had she not died.

When both pies were settled in the hot oven, she busied herself tidying up. Her stomach growled, and she popped a handful of extra blueberries into her mouth. Fuck , these Afterworld blueberries were delicious. She wondered where they were grown. Were there dead farmers here?

She wandered aimlessly from the kitchen into the atrium. Her eyes trailed over the ornate grand staircase with painted gold accents, the dark walls, and the bronze statue of what looked like a wingless angel tucked into a corner. There was something impersonal about it all, like whoever had decorated it had taken their inspiration from the set design of Bram Stoker's Dracula .

It certainly didn't look like a space that reflected the tastes of the two men she'd spent the night with. There was none of William's wildness, none of Atticus' scholarly refinement.

There was nothing about the structure that felt like a home.

When the smell of baking crust caught her attention, she returned to the kitchen.

"Morning, Tink."

Tati looked over her shoulder, finding William, once again in his human form, leaning against the far counter. His hair was pulled back into a bun, and he had that beautiful, sleep-rumpled look of a man who'd just emerged from a deep slumber.

Finding his golden eyes, she offered him a hesitant smile. "Hi," she said, unsure of where they stood after what they'd done last night. "Is the fact that I made food appear with my mind normal? Can everyone do that here?"

"No," William said with a rough laugh. "Unfortunately, that is just a perk of living in this dark and depressing mansion." He paused, sniffing the air. "It smells incredible in here."

She opened her mouth to respond, but the man continued, scratching absently at his bare chest. "Nice shirt, by the way."

Her cheeks flushed hot as she glanced down at his shirt, noting where the soft fabric barely reached her upper thighs. "I hope you don't mind, I–"

"Nonsense, Tink," he said, his mouth curving up into a wide smile. "You look better in it than I ever could."

She didn't have a chance to respond before Atticus walked in, his hands busy fastening the button of his trousers. His dark hair was tousled, sticking up from his head at odd angles, and Tati took a moment to, once again, appreciate the smooth pale skin of his chest and torso.

It was impossible not to watch Atticus as he came up behind William, long fingers gripping the shifter's hips as he planted a tender kiss on the spot where William's neck met his strong shoulder muscles. She watched as William's eyes drifted shut, a sweet smile on his face as he murmured just loudly enough for her to make out the words, "Good morning, Atti."

Atticus' response was to run his nose up the length of William's neck.

"Tati is making something," William said, voice low and breathy. "And I, for one, am starved."

Atticus let out a low grumble, but then stood up and rounded the wide kitchen island toward her. She couldn't look away from his discerning, penetrating stare, and she felt a moment of self-consciousness. Did he even want her there? What was she doing, making herself at home in the kitchen of these two men who obviously shared a deep and profound history together ?

"What are you making?" he asked, leaning against the counter with a kind of feigned nonchalance that reminded her of a predator.

She smoothed her hands down the front of the borrowed shirt. "I'm making pie."

Atticus frowned. "Tatiana, please know that you are under no obligation to?—"

"Oh, I know," she interrupted. "It's for me."

William doubled over with laughter, while Atticus' straight brows shot up his forehead.

Immediately, Tati tried to backtrack. "There will be plenty for you if you'd like, I didn't mean–"

Her words died in her throat when a grin tugged at the corner of Atticus' mouth.

"You guys are too much," she muttered, bending over to look at the pies. A few more minutes , she noted, grabbing another handful of blueberries and popping them into her mouth.

"You look happy." Atticus watched her with a thoughtful expression on his face.

"I am happy." There was no reason to be anything but honest. "This was what I wanted to do, back on earth."

"You should do it here."

She glanced up at William. "What?"

"Your bakery. You should open it here in the Afterworld."

Atticus nodded. "He is right, Tatiana. Many people fulfill their entrepreneurial dreams after their deaths."

"How," she began, shaking her head. She was dead, for fuck's sake, and her plans and dreams had died along with her. She hadn't yet fully made peace with that fact, but she would. She had to. "How would that even work?"

"You can select an unoccupied property or building in whatever community you decide to settle in. Or, you can submit an application for a custom property." William reached over, stealing a few blueberries for himself. "For a business venture like this, you are more likely to find a customer base in the Urban or Suburban regions."

"The Rural Region does have a reputation for supporting their small businesses though. While there is a smaller population, they are known for their loyalty." Atticus looked down at his clasped hands. "Do you have a notion of where you would like to be?"

Wherever this is . Wherever you are .

That was what she wanted to say, but that was just her silly imagination starting to entertain fantasies again. The two of them were a complete unit, a duo, with a foundation that was at least a century deep. "No idea," she said, before shifting the subject. "But how does running a business work here? You mentioned writing a proposal?"

It was Atticus who responded. "Anyone who wants to run any sort of establishment begins by writing a proposal. When it comes to us, we typically approve it as long as it adheres to the by-laws of the region. Once you gain approval, then we make sure that supplies are provided in a timely manner."

She thought back to their conversation in the club. "And it's all free?"

"Yes," said Atticus. "The system is designed in the hopes that only those who are truly passionate about their vocations will carry on in the Afterworld. Without the promise of financial gain, you would be amazed at how many walk away from entrepreneurial pursuits."

"I feel like this entire place has too many plot holes to be real," Tati mused, checking the pies again.

William barked out a laugh. "You are not wrong there, Tink."

When she saw the brown tint of the crust, she grabbed the oven-mits she'd found and pulled the two steaming pies out. Sliding them onto latticed trivets, she inhaled deeply. Her mouth watered. Perfect .

"You guys want some?"

William nodded eagerly, while Atticus gave a nonchalant shrug. Carefully, she assembled three plates with a slice of each pie, sliding them across the counter to the two men. William tracked down forks and three embroidered napkins.

Tati started with the savory, humming as she bit through the flakey crust and got the perfect combination of creamy gravy, the salty bite of pork sausage, and the lion's mane and shitake mushroom. Fuck , she loved pie.

She glanced between the two men, trying to gauge their reactions before they voiced them. Based on the way William shimmied his shoulders and nodded emphatically as he chewed, it seemed like a safe bet that he loved what he was eating. But she couldn't be sure about Atticus. His face betrayed nothing, and she found herself fidgeting as she waited for him to say something.

"This is unreal, Tink," William said, his words muffled by a mouthful of pie. "The blueberry with the little hint of lemon…we just might have to keep you."

A smile spread over her face. "I'm glad you like it," she offered.

Atticus finished chewing, his long neck flexing as he swallowed. He set down his fork, before wiping his mouth and his hands with a napkin. Setting the napkin down, he looked up at her, his expression still severe and unreadable. "Tatiana," he began, and her stomach sank when the beginnings of a sad smile played on his lips. "We should get back to the business of letting you choose your final resting place."

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught William's posture straightening, but she couldn't look away from Atticus' unyielding stare. "Oh," she managed to say, hating how small her voice sounded. "Right. Of course." Immediately, she busied her hands tidying, cleaning, but she wasn't sure of where things belonged, and what she was supposed to do with all of the food, and was there even a dishwasher ?

"Atti," she heard William growl, his voice missing the warmth she'd come to associate with the man.

Atticus cleared his throat. "Given the nature of our…activities last night," he continued, "it would be best if we set you up with a different Afterworld consultant."

Oh god , she thought, embarrassment heating her skin in the worst way possible. This was the kind of rejection that was the stuff of nightmares. Share a magical evening of mind-blowing sex and intimacy in the Afterworld with two men who were hotter than sin and shared an eternal bond… of course she wasn't going to stay. Of course there wasn't room for her in their version of eternity.

"Oh," she said, relieved to find her voice had regained its strength.

For a moment something that looked a lot like sadness moved over Atticus' face. "I wish," he began, but then shook his head. "It has been lovely to make your acquaintance, Tatiana."

"You as well," she replied, her body suddenly cold. Her clothes. Where the fuck was her dress? "Where should I go?"

William pushed up to standing, muttering something under his breath to Atticus before rounding the counter to stand by her. "I will take you back to headquarters," he said, his expression guarded, but kind. "Would you like to borrow some sweatpants and a shirt?"

She nodded, grateful for the small kindness.

Once she was changed into a soft shirt and sweats that William brought her, she cast one last look around the spacious room. It hit her then that she hadn't even really been in their home — she'd only seen the common areas. Only seen the smallest glimpse of who they were. It was merely a nibble, in the end. Nowhere near enough to build an eternity on.

"Ready, Tink?" William asked, softly taking her hand in his.

She nodded, and with a flash, they were gone.

T hey landed in a dark, sterile lobby, complete with black marble pillars and a distant line of desks. Once William made sure that she was steady on her feet, he led them toward the desks. She glanced up at his face, wishing that she could smooth a hand over the furrow between his brows and the clenched muscle of his jaw.

He stopped. "This is where I leave you, Tink."

She tried to smile, but it was difficult to maintain. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"What is the name of the region where you live?" She hadn't wanted to ask, but when concepts like forever and eternity were at play, she realized that she had nothing to lose. Nothing but the threat of regret hanging over her, oppressive and stifling, forever.

William's face crumpled, devastation clearly written across every feature. "Fuck, Tink," he began, shaking his head. "Our spot…it is nowhere. We live in the inbetween, for the job, you know."

"Oh," she said, releasing the pained laugh that burned her throat. "Of course you do."

"Tati, please," William's voice had taken on a pleading edge, but it was all too much.

She turned away, unable to look at him. "So I just go to the desk, then?"

"Tati —"

She tried to plaster a smile onto her face as she approached the smartly dressed man with a phone headset. "Hi! I'm in need of a consultant."