of small wooden pieces,
“What are you up to there?” I looked it over, but I couldn’t figure out what he was doing.
“Building a plane,” he said, with his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth. “At least, that’s what I think it’s going to be. It’s one of Dad’s old model sets.
“That is super cool.” I made sure he could hear in my voice that I was proud. “I can’t wait to see it finished!”
“Yeah.” He grinned with pride. “I’ll paint it and everything. It’s really cool.”
I had been lucky enough to have my guys bring me coffee and toast in bed, but my stomach was growling again, so I headed for the kitchen.
Into chaos.
“It says two teaspoons! Look! Right here!” Daire was shouting.
“I know what it says!” Aleksy grumbled with exasperation. “But my grandma always put four teaspoons of nutmeg in her pumpkin pie.”
“Well sure, go right ahead and fuck it up then. Why not?”
“I came in here to help you, you realize. I could just leave you up to your neck here.”
Daire looked up from the stove. “No—please don’t. I thought I knew what I was doing! Zavier offered to help, and I kicked him out. He’s the cook, I’m totally screwed—” He looked up suddenly and saw me standing there.
“Whitney!” His smile and tone were clearly overjoyed, but he glanced back at the many saucepans that were boiling over.
“Dear God, help me.” He rolled his eyes at the ceiling. “How do grandmothers make this look so easy?”
I crossed the room, squeezing Aleksy’s arm as I passed him by.
“You could try this.” I carefully turned down the heat on the burners, letting all the saucepans simmer down. “What the hell are you doing? Aside from burning down the kitchen that is.”
He pointed at the pots.
“Cream sauce. Pumpkin for a pie. Peas and carrots.”
“Daire.” I laughed, “You’re doing too much at once. You should do the pastry for the pie before you do anything else.”
“Aleksy should handle that.”
Aleksy looked up forlornly from the table. “Nope. I don’t have this, not at all.” He raised his hands, gooey white dripping from his fingertips. “I’m lost. I’m drowning in pastry.”
I couldn’t help giggling. “It’s way too wet.”
He grabbed me around the waist, wriggling against me.
“What’s wet?”
“You know.” I smiled, kissing him. I yelped as something touched my ass. I stood up straight to see Daire pointing at me with a spatula.
“You can help him out with his incredible wetness later. I need you to rescue me.”
I took a step across the room and turned off the burners.
“Does that help?”
“Much. Thank you. Is this the part where I go and pie down and drink beer? I tried, didn’t I?”
I pulled him toward me, laughing. “Come on. I’ll help you save the day. Where’s the meat?”
“Oh, in the oven.”
“Looks like you did something right. Why can’t I smell anything?”
“I don’t know. I put it on like an hour ago.”
“Hmm.” I approached the oven with trepidation. When I pulled the door open, I almost fell on my ass I was laughing so hard.
“Oh, save me from the scorn of my woman.” Daire beseeched the ceiling. “What have I done now?”
I pulled myself together enough to get up off the floor and get out the massive turkey. It was still stone cold and sitting in a dry tray completely undressed.
“Daire, you never turned the oven on. I’m glad you didn’t though, because you didn’t dress the turkey.”
He stared at me quizzically. “Those things need to put a dress on. But how does that work?”
I tried not to drop the turkey while another fit of laughter seized me. “Aleksy, love, open the side cupboard for me.”
He reached out a hand and did so. I slid around the small space to pull out a handful of small bottles.
“Give me the butter.”
“How do you know I’ve got the damned butter?” Aleksy protested.
“Because there’s too much in your pastry.”
“Oh.”
“Normally, I would say there is no such thing as too much butter in the pastry, but there is a limit, dear one.”
Aleksy beamed back at me, still trying to free his fingers from the sticky dough.
“So long as you love me. That’s all that matters. You can butter me up anytime, or I can butter you… Whatever.”
“Look, can you show me how to put a dress on this turkey, or what.” Daire had his arms crossed, and he looked positively pissed. I found his scowl to be a beauty all unto itself. The way his brows curled, and his