Page 83 of How to Lose a Pack in 10 Dates

Jace appears beside me. “Jesus Christ.”

“It’s romantic!” Aimee insists. “Dinner should be anexperience.”

Wes makes a strangled noise and slams the fork down on the countertop so hard it bounces.

“In one day, you’ve rearranged the condiments and organized them by ‘vibe’,again;putallmy supplements inonejar that you've labeled 'Alpha Guilt Dust';andgave the last box of my protein bars away to the fuckingmailmanbecause—and I quote—he lookedundernourished and sad.”

“He wasreally grateful, actually.”

“Cam,” Wes grits out. “Back me up.Please.”

I hesitate, my mouth half open. Because yeah, shedidhijack his dinner. But on the other hand… there’s a decorative candle burning in the rice cooker, and it kind of smells like a yoga studio in here.

“It’s a scent experience,” Aimee says brightly, and I'm too confused by everything going on around me to wonder how she managed to read my mind on that point. “Lemongrass and jasmine. It’s for ambience.”

Wes opens and closes his mouth in disbelief, then shakes his head. “You areunhinged.”

“Wes,” I say gently. “Come on, man. She’s trying.”

“So you keep saying.She's trying.Trying towhat?Poison us with soy wax fumes?”

Jace opens the oven, stares for a beat, then lets out a confused noise.

“Why are there pink cupcakes… in the warming drawer?”

“Oh! They’re not cupcakes,” Aimee says, way too cheerfully. “They’re mini carbonara muffins.”

“What the fuck is a carbonara muffin?” Jace mutters, more to himself than anyone else.

Apparently, Wes draws the line at carnobara muffins. .

“You know what? I’m done,” he snaps. “You hijacked my dinner and turned it into a goddamn Valentine’s Day prank.”

“It’s not a prank,” Aimee says primly, placing a tray down on the counter with what I now realize are glitter-covered garlic knots. I don’t even know where they came from. “It’s hospitality.”

“There is glitter in the pancetta.”

There’s a second—a heartbeat—where it’s almost funny. I feel it tighten behind my ribs, that stupid involuntary laugh that wants to break through.

I blink, slowly. “It’s… edible shimmer, right?”

“It’sglitter, Cam. In. The. Pancetta.”

“It’s not even that sparkly,” Aimee sighs, shaking her head. “A dusting of festive sheen. A little protein with pizzazz. Is this your toxic masculinity flaring up again, Wes?”

“I swear to god,” he mutters, gripping the counter. “This iswar.”

“War?” she gasps. “What, because I made your sad beige dinnerfun?”

I move to step in. “Guys—”

But Wes cuts me off, advancing on her, finger jabbing through the air.

“No. Because you knowexactlywhat you’re doing.”

Her smile falters.

“You walk around here in your stupid fuzzy socks and other people’s hoodies like you’re just accidentally adorable. Like you don’t know exactly how to tilt your head and blink those big omega eyes to get away with murder.”

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