Page 39 of Beneficial Misfortune

Dale usually does all the cooking. Should I inform him he won’t be needed today?

Yes, please. Addison and I have it covered.

Sounds good. I’ll let him know.

Thank you. Hope your meeting goes well.

The second I hit send, I regret it. Why did I say that? That was in no way necessary or strictly professional.

“Mac and cheese!” Addison proclaims, finally deciding and saving me from my spiral.

I drop my phone on the counter face down, and we begin the hunt for ingredients.

The fact that they have a chef is apparent the more I look around. There are so many fresh ingredients and everything we need, from cheese to noodles and every cooking tool imaginable.

This kitchen is a dream.

The prep work takes a while with Addison helping, but she’s smiling the whole time, so I don’t mind. By the time we popped it into the oven to cook, I had another idea, and the fact that they had not one but two ovens only solidified my decision. We’d pulled out some of the fresh fruit from the fridge to snack on while we cooked, and Addison took a break to grab some while I did a quick cleanup and pulled out peanut butter, sugar, and some eggs.

Setting them down on the freshly cleared island counter seems to get her attention.

“What’s that for?” she asks, hopping down from her stool to come stand with me. I kick her step stool over so that she can climb up next to me and see what we're doing on the counter.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I could use something sweet,” I tell her, chuckling when her eyes widen. Addison, like most kids and myself, loves sweets. “How do peanut butter cookies sound?”

Judging by her squeal, I’m going to say she likes the idea.

We make two dozen cookies and get them all loaded up onto a tray, ready to go in, just as the timer for the mac and cheese goes off.

Addison washes up while I get the cookies in the oven and plate us some food.

“This is the best mac and cheese ever, Ms. Kat!” Addison proclaims after her first bite before quickly shoveling another spoonful into her mouth.

“Slow down. It’s not going anywhere,” I tell her, worried she’s going to choke with how fast she’s trying to eat it. “I’m glad you like it, but we have plenty, and we can make it again.”

She slows down, if only minorly, but it’s enough for her to chew, so I’ll take it. I eat from my own plate as I continue to clean up and rotate the cookies out and onto a cooling rack as they finish. After the first batch cools, I put two on a paper towel and drop them next to Addison’s bowl, which she promptly abandons to try the cookie.

I let her. Not only is she on her second bowl of mac and cheese, but I can’t really blame her; I did the same.

Who can resist a freshly baked cookie?

Nobody, apparently, because just as I fill the last sheet from the oven, I hear Ruby as he wanders in. He’d been outside with us while we played, but disappeared when we came back inside. I’d thought he was going for a nap after playing, but now I see that wasn’t the case.

Desmond walks in a moment later, his hair sticking up in every direction, telling me he probably just woke up. He steps into the kitchen and stops, throwing his arms up to stretch and fuck me. He has no right looking so good without even trying.

His chest is bare, and I can’t look away from the tattoos that litter his torso and arms going up so far as his neck. They move and ripple as his muscles bunch and stretch, and I have to resist the urge to move toward him and trace the delicate lines and colors with my fingers or maybe even my tongue.

His shorts are loose and sit low on his hips, showing off the tops of his boxers that also sit low, but not as low. My eyes trace the muscles of his stomach, moving down lower to the V between his hips and the dark hairs that run down the center and into his shorts. I know exactly what that trail leads to, but I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t love to see it again.

He slowly peels open his eyes, his gaze meeting mine. A smirk curls his lips up, making him look impossibly hotter. I quickly avert my eyes, looking back at the cookies.

“Morning,” he says, his voice still hoarse with sleep.

“Afternoon,” I say, trying to sound indifferent, knowing I fail when he chuckles.

As if getting caught staring at him wasn’t bad enough.

I need to get my libido under control before I go through all my clean underwear on the first day here.

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