Page 32 of The Very First Night

“Hey,” I say, but I don’t look away from the oven as I count the moments until I can check the cheesecake.

“Did the oven do something to you?” he whispers in my ear, providing commentary on my odd appliance fixation.

“My cheesecake is in there.”

“Does the recipe call for eyes on the oven at all times?” He raises a brow, an amused smirk spread across his lips.

“Shut up,” I laugh as I smack him in the arm.

He darts away and roams about the kitchen, silently perusing the fixings being prepared. As he approaches Jenna, he notices the pot sitting unattended on the stove. He does exactly what Tanner did and dips a spoon into the silky brown mixture, licking it before turning to Jenna.

“Needs salt,” he says, tossing the spoon into the sink.

“Get out!” She points to the kitchen doorway, irritation plastered across her face.

As he yields to Jenna’s warning, Elijah shoots me a wink. It is only then I notice Tanner silently laughing in the doorway.

“Assholes,” I mouth to the both of them.

The two men take it in stride, smiling cheekily before allowing us to cook in peace.

With oven mitts on, I carefully pull out the springform pan and set it on a cooling rack. The crust is perfectly golden and the filling is just set with a slight jiggle in the center. A sense of relief washes over me as I admire my successfully baked cheesecake.

“It looks great!” Jenna peers at it in awe.

“Thanks!” I set the cheesecake aside to free up the oven, assuming that they need it for the turkey.

Then I look out the back window of the kitchen to see Marcus and Brendan huddled around a deep frier.

“Do they not know how dangerous those things are?” I ask no one in particular.

“Oh, they’re fully aware. They’re just stupid,” Jenna responds, not even bothering to look up from her task.

With my cooking done, I venture out into the living room, where most of the guys—save for a few brothers in the kitchen—are huddled around the TV watching football.

“Is there a game on today?” I ask, confused.

“No, this is a replay of the Browns game from Monday,” a brother replies.

I just nod, not particularly concerned with the schedules set forth by the NFL, and plop down onto the couch between Elijah and Tanner. Elijah notices my presence almost immediately, leaning into the couch and draping his arm across the back behind me.

We’ve settled into a newfound rhythm as of late, and I’ll be honest—I love the way he’s been acting. It’s like the impenetrable fortress erected around his heart is slowly being removed and I adore watching it happen.

Especially when it is because of me.

I lean into his side as the rest of the guys hoot and holler at the game. “Did they not…watch the game on Monday?” I whisper to Elijah.

“Oh, they did.” He smirks. The confusion plaguing my expression must register, because he continues, “It’s hard to explain; don’t think too much on it.”

And that is that, I guess.

A loud crash sounds from the kitchen. That can’t be good.

“I’m okay, I’m okay!” Marcus yells.

My eyes meet Elijah’s and we both lunge toward the kitchen to see what catastrophe awaits us.

The turkey—the freshly fried turkey that Marcus and Brendan had been so excited about—is now on the kitchen floor. An expression I can only liken to shame plagues Marcus’s face as he stares down at the bird.

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