Page 15 of Owning Emma

He inhaled deeply, then let it out. “Look, don’t you have waffles to whip up or something? I’m starving here.”

He stared at me, waiting for me to answer, practically daring me to defy him. But I couldn’t. The browns of his eyes were so intense, I couldn’t bring myself to rebel, despite my internal desire to do so. This must be it. This must be how he got his reputation, how the fear of disobeying him had gained speed. His eyes, they left no room for choice, no room for argument, no will to disappoint.

Turning my back to him, I did my best to ignore his presence, even if the whole room pulsed with his nearness. Instead, I picked up my measuring utensils, grabbed the flour, and did the only thing I was really good at doing. I began measuring, whisking, and ignoring the world around me.

Cooking breakfast with Roman wasn’t as awful as I originally thought it would be. He stayed out of my way, but started and held engaging conversations. Which was a shocker, because the consensus was that all these guys: Krank, Roman, all their little side kicks . . . were one slice short of a full pie.

Midway through cooking, while Roman sat at the island drinking his coffee, Shaw stumbled in, his eyes open just enough to navigate his way around. Roman greeted him, Shaw flipped him the bird, then they sat together, drinking coffee, discussing business plans. Their camaraderie was endearing, obviously a friendship with a deep foundation, and I was a little jealous to be standing in the same room, but be entirely on the outside.

We didn’t bother moving the meal to the dining room table, but spread it out on the kitchen island, each one of us grabbing a plate and ladling our plates full. The conversation went smoothly, the right balance of Shaw’s humorous banter and Roman’s stern glares. In some ways, the two were similar. Both strong willed and egotistical. In other ways, they were night and day, an unusual match of friendship. One light and playful, the other sulky and contemplative. But, despite my need for grudging disdain, I enjoyed them both, each for their individuality.

The plates were cleared, our stomachs were filled, and I was just feeling entirely comfortable getting to know the boys when Roman’s phone beeped with an incoming text. His eyebrows drew together, a look of annoyance flickering across his face before he reached to the center of the table and retrieved his phone. Picking it up, he pressed a few buttons, then swore loudly. Seconds later, Shaw’s phone dinged as Roman was already rushing out of the kitchen.

Shaw picked up his phone, giving it an eerily similar glare to Roman’s before shoving it in his pocket. He stood, his frame towering over me, causing my neck to kink just looking at him. “Thanks for breakfast, Cardigan. Leave the dishes, will ya? I’ll do them in a bit.”

He didn’t wait for my reply, only followed Roman out of the kitchen, both reacting to the same message. Once I watched his back disappear, I let out a sigh of disappointment. It had been nice, for a minute. But not something I expected to repeat. Picking up the dirty dishes, I carried them to the sink, letting the hot water run over them as I wiped down the island. Leave the dishes for Shaw to clean up later? Not going to happen.

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