Page 24 of Knot for Me
“I’ll go with you,” Marco offers, sticking his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels. “Snacks are my jam.”
“Cool.” I want to say no, but I don’t want to be rude. Besides, Marco is the funny one.
As soon as we get out of the library, I suck in a lungful of mostly alpha-free air. They were so mad inside the library their scents filled it up, warning off Jefferson and Amelie. I doubt they could control that instinct any more than I can my reactions to them. It’s a curse. Out here, I realize perhaps the purifiers are working. I hardly notice Marco walking next to me now that he’s calm.
“What about cheese and crackers?”
I side-eye Marco. “What kind of cheese?”
His lips curl and any traces of the anger from moments before disappear. “Yes.” Chuckling at me when I give him a confused look, he grabs my hand. “Come on, I’ll show you.”
He drops my hand when we get to the kitchen and sweeps both doors of the refrigerator open with a grand flourish. The bottom drawer is filled with different selections of meats and cheese. It’s a charcuterie lover’s wet dream.
“That much cheese should be illegal,” I murmur, reaching around him to pick up a brick of gouda. “I love this kind.”
“Don’t forget the aged white cheddar and the goat cheese.” He grabs both of those.
“Shut up, is that fig spread?”
“What kind of snack person would I be if I didn’t go all out?” He nudges me with his elbow. “Almond or toasty bagel crackers?”
“Both, it gives better flavor palate options.”
“Good idea.” Nodding in agreement like I’ve offered some sort of sage advice, he grabs the prosciutto, peppered salami, and the fancy pepperoni. I snatch the fig spread from the shelf on the door and close the fridge while he sets his stuff on the counter.
“Where are the plates?” I ask while he grabs the crackers from the walk-in pantry on the right side of the counter.
“Third cabinet to the left of the sink.”
I grab a big one then pause. One plate means we’re comfortable with each other. Are we comfortable? No. I should get another so we can each have our own. I don’t want to send the wrong message.
“I think you’re overthinking it, Reagan. I need a plate, stat. I’m ready to slice this cheese.”
Shaking my head, I clutch the one and close the cabinet. “I’m so hungry,” I say to distract him from my weirdness.
“Me too. I hate when work interferes with my snack schedule.”
“What about meals?” He hasn’t mentioned much about those yet.
Cory walks in, lifting an eyebrow at our spread of food. “Marco doesn’t do well with meals. He’s a grazer.” I brace for his scent to rock into me, but I only get faint traces of it.
Good. We’ll have to be careful when our emotions are strong, but if the purifiers work most of the time, living here won’t be like daily torture.
“I still eat at meal time,” Marco defends himself.
“Hardly. You’re a perpetual grazer.”
“Whatever.” Marco holds out a piece of cheese for me to take.
“Thanks,” I say, turning my head to hide my smile as I take a bite.
“What do you want for dinner?”
I wait for Marco to answer, but he never does. I give him a look. It’s pretty rude he ignored Cory, but they’re both looking at me instead.
“Oh.” I press my lips together. “Whatever is fine.”
“We’re fresh out of that.” Cory crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the counter. “What’s your favorite meal?”
