~~PEYTON~~
Odin’s face is inches from mine, brow furrowed as he scans me like he’s searching for a missing puzzle piece.
Or perhaps trying to read a language he doesn’t quite understand.
But I don’t expect the words that come out of his mouth.
“You’re sweating?”
I hiss and shove his face away.
“Because I’m a human being.
Genius.”
”Mom, isn’t the air conditioner turned on?” Odin presses, glancing at Natalie, who is serving each of the plates, her gaze fixed on the task.
“It’s on, sweetie,” she murmurs without looking up.
Odin turns his attention back to me, his brow furrowed again.
“Then why are you…” He trails off as he spots Raphael approaching the table.
He stands up from his seat and scurries to the chair on my left and plops down.
Raphael settles into the chair next to me, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.
“You know you can’t hide from me forever.”
I shake my head.
Sometimes I wonder who the elder brother really is between the two.
“Sorry, I’m late!” A voice cuts in, a little loud but tiny like a rat’s squeak.
“We thought you bailed,” Axel says, leaning back in his chair, smiling, while the rest of the family doesn’t turn; they don’t care, especially Raphael.
It was Charlotte, their adopted sister.
She walks briskly to the dining table, grinning like a Cheshire cat.
“I didn’t bail,” she explains, already making her way over to me.
“I partied all day, was exhausted, and just fell asleep.” Her smile stretches even wider as she pats the chair right beside mine.
“Do you mind… um…”
I raise a brow.
“I do.”
Her smile falters a bit, but she quickly adds, “Please?”
I sigh.
I really don’t want to act as a buffer between Rap and Odin, so escaping seems like a pretty good idea.
“Okay,” I say, standing up and heading for the only other available seat—right next to Axel.
Great, didn’t exactly think this through.
Axel’s smile stretches like he’d just won the lottery.
Then he whispers so close to my ear.
“We make a good pair.”
I pull away, spotting Natalie’s eyes scanning both of us like an X-ray.
Sometimes I feel her eyes can actually spot a gun in an enclosed suitcase.
The airport could use her help.
I sit up straighter, trying my best to ignore how Natalie keeps glancing at me and how my core is throbbing.
It’s a twitch at first, but it starts escalating slowly with each eye contact Axel and I make.
It’s frustrating, especially when Axel is making it more difficult.
His hand brushes mine as he reaches for the sauce.
All the while, he doesn’t take his eyes off me, even as he serves some sauce on my pasta.
Does it look like I’m helpless or something?
I quickly avert my gaze anywhere else, just to escape his intense stare.
Then I catch sight of something dubious going on underneath the table, and my jaw almost drops.
Charlotte’s hand is on Rap’s thigh.
He rips it off, but she keeps putting it back on.
Charlotte won’t stop tracing her finger along his thigh, and Rap has had enough; now he’s holding her wrist so tight that she almost screams.
And then there’s me, having Axel’s finger at the hem of my shorts; he’s going in deeper.
It’s slow, teasing, tempting.
God, I want to kill him.
Charlotte pulls her hand away from Rap’s thigh, her face beaming.
“Wild! You guys should have been there.”
Rap clears his throat, pushing his plate slightly forward.
“Some of us have responsibilities, Char.”
”Oh, come on, Rap.
Live a little!” she counters, leaning back in her chair with a mischievous glint in her eyes.
I swear she is enjoying his discomfort.
What the fuck is going on between them?
Rap shifts again, his fist clenched by his side.
Should I do something?
His jaw is set, and I’m sure that within five seconds he’ll explode.
“The pasta,” I blurt out, too loudly, just to break the silence.
Everyone looks at me.
“It won’t… be… enough… for Char. Don’t you think you should make more?”
Oh God, that was directed at Natalie.
By mistake.
She’ll kill me.
Natalie’s face darkens.
“I should go make more?”
I smile awkwardly.
“Yeah… um… no, no, no. I should go make more.”
Odin scoffs, eyeing me.
“Can you even boil pasta?”
Yeah, he won’t let this pass, will he?
“Yes.” I smile.
“Been watching… tutorials.”
Odin shakes his head, his scoff loud enough to imply utter disbelief.
Almost a snort.
“Everyone brace yourselves; there’ll be a fire soon. I’m telling ya.”
Charlotte bursts into laughter, louder than necessary.
Everyone else is silent, looking at me.
I can practically see the wheels turning in Natalie’s head.
“You can’t cook,” she says, but Odin isn’t done yet.
“No, she can’t. She’s gonna burn down your kitchen.”
My chest tightens, but I don’t show it.
I smile.
“Relax, Odin. I’m pretty sure your mom has a fire extinguisher.”
I don’t wait; I turn, going for the kitchen.
I hear a chair scrape the ground, and Axel’s unmistakable voice chimes in.
“Where are you going, Rap?”
”To keep watch,” he answers, already striding towards me.
“Don’t want the kitchen burning down, or I’ll have to clean up the mess.”
I ignore the mocking statement and practically stumble into the kitchen, fumbling with the racks, searching for the pasta.
My hands dart around, equally lost, trying to figure out where they keep the pots in this unfamiliar space.
Raphael walks in, hands in his pockets, a quiet presence.
He doesn’t say a word, just strides over to the refrigerator and pulls out a pack of pasta, tossing it to me with a slight flick of his wrist.
“Here,” he mumbles.
“The pots are over there.” He gestures toward a deep, pull-out drawer beside the stove.
“Thanks,” I whisper, opening the drawer.
Inside are a variety of pots and pans.
I pick out a small, heavy-bottomed one.
Rap leans against the counter, still watching me.
“So,” I start, trying to sound casual as I set the pot on the stove and turn on the burner.
The gas ignites with a soft whoosh.
“What’s up with you and Charlotte?”
His face blanks.
“You saw that?”
I nod, and he shrugs.
“Nothing’s ‘up.'”
“Because perfectly normal sibling interactions involve unwanted thigh touching and clenched fists.”
Raphael pushes off the counter, walking closer.
“She’s just…
she’s always been like that.
Annoying.”
”Or horny.”
He blinks and doesn’t reply.
I drop the pasta into the boiling water, watching the strands soften and sink.
I don’t know what I’m doing, but I’m trying to look competent.
Maybe my instincts are leading me.
“Stir it,” he says suddenly.
“I know you didn’t have to tell me,” I huff, grab a spatula, and start stirring.
And I keep stirring and stirring and stirring.
He chuckles, steps in, snatches the spatula from me, and covers the pot.
“You don’t have to keep stirring.”
My face flushes.
“I know.”
”I bet you do.”
He stares at me for a long moment, and instantly our last encounter plays in my head.
He’s scary and so hard to figure out.
That’s enough of a clue for me to step back and stay away.
He’s the first to break the silence.
“Salt,” he hints.
“Yeah, salt. I was actually going to add it later, but I’ll just add it now.” I smile.
God, this is awkward.
I reach for the salt shaker and liberally sprinkle some into the boiling water.
Raphael watches my hand, then asks, “Why didn’t you have much experience in cooking?”
”Well, my stepmom does all the cooking.
She never trusted me to go into the kitchen; maybe she thinks I’d poison her.” A bitter laugh escapes me.
“And then I was always busy in my late teens, hustling and all.”
He doesn’t reply.
He just nods.
“That explains a lot.”
Yeah, it does.
My rough upbringing and lack of a maternal figure who cares to teach me basic life skills, and I’m just too busy to do petty things.
His gaze is still on me, but it’s softer now, less intense.
The air between us shifts from awkward tension to something resembling quiet understanding, yet unsettling in its own way.
Minutes later, Raphael walks to another cupboard and pulls out a colander.
He then opens a drawer filled with plates, handing me one.
“You know, for someone who can’t cook, you’re doing alright.”
I offer a small, genuine smile.
“Am I?”
”No, that’s a sick joke.”
My smile drops—oh, now he’s a teaser.
He actually chuckles, a low, rumbling sound.
“Your secret’s safe with me.”
We work in tandem, draining the pasta and dividing it onto plates.
As we head back to the dining room, a fresh wave of unease washes over me.
The quiet moment we just shared in the kitchen was a bit surprising, and it’s about to be shattered by the chaos of the family.
And then there’s Axel, staring at me like wheels are turning in his head.
And there’s Charlotte, who won’t stop looking at me.
And there’s me, who won’t let either of them have their way this time.
First—let’s start with Odin.
The blabberer.
I flash a wide, silly smile at him—one that gives a head start that I’m about to gloat.
“The kitchen didn’t burn down. Hallelujah.”