Page 31 of The Flavor of Us

Ashton’s grin widens and Ryder lets out a soft sigh from across the couch, pinching the bridge of his nose like he’s already anticipating whatever chaos Ashton is about to cause. Before anyone can say anything else, Tati practically scrambles out of my lap, nearly tripping over her own feet as she bolts toward the door.

Ashton follows at a much more leisurely pace, his grin sharp and wicked as he tosses a wink in my direction. “Don’t wait up, Chef.”

And then he’s gone, leaving me and Ryder alone in the now too-quiet living room. For a long moment, neither of us speaks. Then Ryder clears his throat softly, his blue eyes locking onto mine.

“You okay with this?” he asks carefully.

I nod, exhaling a slow breath. “Yeah. I think so.”

But even as I sit there and try to convince myself that a week is enough, I can’t shake the feeling in my chest—the sharp, possessive tug that tells me this isn’t just casual.

This iseverything.

Chapter thirteen

RYDER

The door closes behind Ashton and Tati with a softclick, leaving the room steeped in quiet. The faint scent of melon and citrus lingers in the air, but it’s Carleen’s sweet rain that anchors me, grounding me in this moment. I lean back into the couch, one arm stretched lazily along the backrest, my gaze tracking Carleen as she exhales, tilting her head back against the armchair with her eyes closed for just a moment.

She looks tired—not physically, but…emotionally. Like she’s been carrying too much weight for too long.

I had no expectations walking into this apartment earlier today. Culinova sent Ashton and me because of our reputation, because we’re good at what we do. But the second I stepped into this space and caught her scent, felt the weight of her presence, something shifted inside me.

Carleen Monroe.

I’ve wanted to meet her for a long time.

Her name carries weight in the culinary world. Not just because her dishes are practically art, but because she’s built something out of nothing—an empire carved out with her own two hands and stubborn grit. But her reputation isn’t just about her food—it’s about her as an Alpha.

And that’s where the stories get messy.

Leo, one of my former colleagues at another kitchen, had a lot to say about Carleen Monroe. None of it flattering. “She’s cold, man,” Leo had said one night after too many drinks. “Won’t give you the time of day unless you’re on her level. And even if you are, she’s all tease, no follow-through. She’ll pull you in, string you along, and then leave you wanting. No sex, barely a kiss, and definitely no bond.”

At the time, I’d taken his words with a grain of salt. Leo was the kind of Alpha who measured value in what someone could give him—emotionally, physically, financially. If Carleen didn’t entertain his advances, it probably bruised his ego. But now, sitting across from her, watching the way her brow creases in thought, the way her hand lingers briefly over the spot where Tati had been curled in her lap…

I know Leo’s full of shit.

Carleen isn’t cold. She isn’t some manipulative tease, stringing people along for sport. She’sguarded.

She’s careful.

And with good reason.

She opens her eyes, catching me watching her. Her brow arches slightly, and the corner of her lips pulls into a faint smirk.

“You’re staring, St. James,” she muses. I didn’t really see her when I first walked in, trying to be professional, and keep distance between us. But now that we’ve agreed to trial these feelings, I catalog her soft features. The pixie curls, the sharplines of her jaw, the lines of muscle running down her arms. She’s fucking gorgeous.

I let out a slow exhale, tilting my head slightly as I study her. “Can you blame me?”

Her smirk widens slightly, but then it falters. Her gaze flickers to the door Tati and Ashton disappeared through, and something shifts in her expression—something softer, something more vulnerable.

“Did you agree to this for her?” The question slips out before I can stop it, but I don’t regret asking. “Did you agree to this—this trial, this…thing—because of her? Because she wanted it?”

Carleen stands, her shoulders straightening as she moves toward the kitchen. Her scent trails after her, wrapping around me. I stay seated for a moment, watching the way her jaw tightens, the way her hands clench briefly at her sides before she releases them with a sigh. She stops at the counter, her fingers running along the smooth marble surface before she turns her head just slightly to look at me.

“I’ve always wanted a big pack,” she says softly, her voice steady but threaded with something heavier. “The noise, the chaos, the love—it’s what I’ve always imagined for myself. But Tati and I… we move at different speeds.”

I stand, slowly making my way to the kitchen, careful not to crowd her. Carleen is all sharp edges and soft vulnerabilities right now and I’m not about to make her feel cornered.

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