Page 54 of Two For the Show
While things with Quinton immediately felt like the beginning of forever, with Alex, it feels like our souls have always known each other. The moment I realized what she was to me had previously been the worst of my life. Quinton was nearly gone to the Rot, passed out, and I wasn’t sure if he’d be able to come out of it.
And then she came barrelling in, even though she was sick, even though she was a complete mess, and there was nothing medically she could do. She came, and she tried anyway.
Because she tried, we realized what we are to one another.
She saved my Alpha and became my Omega in one breath.
A soft sound reaches me from the couch. Alex and Q are still entangled, and while one of Q’s arms braced awkwardly behind the couch to not stress his healing stitches, the other is wrapped around her waist, pulling her snug against him.
I don’t want to interrupt them. I want to grab my sketchpad and some charcoal and capture the beauty of this moment so I can carry it with me forever.
Despite what I want, dinner is ready, and the breading on the chicken parmesan will get soggy if we wait much longer to dig in, so I have to be the bad guy and cut their fun short.
I clear my throat. “Dinner is ready.”
The two throw themselves on opposite sides of the couch like teenagers caught by their parents, and I stifle a laugh. They both look deliciously rumpled, cheeks flushed, and their hair a mess.
We chose Quinton’s trailer tonight instead of mine simply because he wanted to capture her scent here. He thinks if he locks this place up tight, it will stay forever.
Though it is thick in the air right now with her arousal, it won’t, but I’m not going to begrudge him the attempt.
They slide into their seats, opposite sides of the square table, and I sit down between them.
“This looks delicious. Thank you, Matteo,” Alex says as she picks up her fork. “I can’t believe you were able to put this together in this tiny kitchen.”
Her compliment has me feeling like a proud peacock. Betas are often said to be the ones who support Omegas, nurture them when Alphas are too dominant. Providing a meal for her is an instinctual way of showing her how well I will be able to care for her. “It was nothing, really. I’ve always liked to cook.”
“Matteo’s dad is a chef,” Quinton says around a bite of food. “He practically grew up in the kitchen.”
“Really?” she asks, after swallowing a bite. “What kind of stuff did you cook?”
“I mean, we did a little bit of everything, but my favorite was when my grandmother would join us in thekitchen.” I twirl some pasta on my fork. “My grandparents are from El Salvador, so learning the history and culture of my family through food was important to all of us.”
“Oh, I love that! I can’t say I’ve ever had food from El Salvador.” She cuts into the chicken and looks at me curiously. “What’s it like?”
“Delicious,” Quinton sighs. “I would use a pupusa as a pillow if I could. Oh, and he fried yucca for me once. I prefer it to fries now. So fucking good.”
“Too bad it’s not a good idea to deep fry in one of these trailers,” I say with a laugh. “But I’ll make you some one day.”
She smiles, and it’s so lovely it almost makes me dizzy. “I can’t wait!” After taking a few more bites, her face turns contemplative, and she puts her fork down.
“What’s on your mind?” I ask.
“I was thinking about how there really aren’t any recipes that have been passed down in my family. I don’t think I have anything to teach our kids how to cook.”
Our kids.
Our kids.
Our kids.
Not her kids.
Our kids.
She seems to register what she said the same moment Quinton does, and they talk over each other.
“You want kids?”
