Page 45 of The Flavor of Us

Chapter twenty-one

RYDER

Waking up with Tati pressed against Ashton and me felt like holding sunlight in my arms—warm, fleeting,everything. And watching her fall apart on my thigh, I realize just how addicting these women are going to be.

Tati, with her sweet melon scent and those wide, trusting hazel eyes. Carleen, with her sharp tongue, steady hands, and that flicker of vulnerability she tries so damn hard to hide.

I run a hand through my hair, trying to shake off the buzz still lingering in my chest. I’mecstaticthat Carleen’s signing the contract. Not just because she’s the best for the event—although she is—but because it means we have time. Time to settle, time to grow, time toprovethat this isn’t just biology.

It’s somethingreal.

Ashton will obsess over Tati—I already know it. He’s going to be draped over her, doting on her, teasing her, worshiping her every second he gets. And honestly? I’m right there with him.

But Carleen…

God, Carleen.

She’s something else entirely. She’s fire and steel, wrapped in soft brown curls and sharp eyes that see everything. There’s a weight to her presence, an unshakable calm that makes me want to drop to my knees and promise her the world.

And hell, Iwould.

Because under all that strength, there’s something fragile. Something she’s been holding back, afraid to show anyone—afraid to showus.But I see it. I feel it every time she looks at Tati with those protective eyes, every time she glances at Ashton and me with hesitation and hope warring on her face.

I need her to trust me. To trustus.

And we have time now.

I step into the kitchen, my eyes catching on Carleen immediately. She’s standing by the counter, arms crossed over her chest, her brow furrowed as she watches Ashton hover over a mixing bowl. She looks exasperated, her lips pressed into a thin line, but there’s amusement dancing in her eyes.“Whatisthis supposed to be?” she asks, unimpressed.

I smirk as I get closer, leaning against the archway to watch the scene unfold.

Ashton, completely unbothered, grins over his shoulder at her, a streak of flour dusting the edge of his cheek. “Banana pudding.”

Carleen’s brow rises, her eyes flicking to the countertop—a disaster zone of scattered ingredients, sticky banana peels, and what looks suspiciously like marshmallow fluff. “That isnotbanana pudding,” she growls, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Ashton’s grin widens, his brown eyes glinting with mischief. “It’smyversion of banana pudding.”

“It’s chaos,” she snaps back, but there’s no real heat in her voice.

Ashton shrugs, completely unashamed. “All great masterpieces start with a little chaos.”

Carleen huffs out a breath, muttering something under her breath about ‘messy Alphas’ and ‘useless kitchen etiquette.’ Carleen turns so that her back is to me as she leans over the counter, brow furrowed as she stares at Ashton’s chaotic concoction of supposedly banana pudding. Her hands are braced against the edge, knuckles white, like she’s tryingsohard not to reach out and fix the mess in front of her.

I step into the kitchen, letting my presence fill the space, and I see the way her shoulders subtly relax when she notices me out of the corner of her eye. She doesn’t turn, but her breathing slows just slightly.

“Carleen,” I say softly, my voice low, steady.

She glances over her shoulder, her brown eyes sharp but tired around the edges. I nod toward one of the barstools tucked against the counter. “Come sit,” I murmur, keeping my tone light but firm.

Her lips twitch, like she’s about to argue, but then she sighs and steps back from the counter, walking around to the stool. She sits down, crossing her long legs, her hands folding neatly in her lap as she stares at me expectantly.

I step forward slowly, giving her space to move away if she wants. But she doesn’t. She stays exactly where she is, her chin tilted up as her brown eyes lock onto mine. When I’m close enough, I let my chest brush against her arm—just slightly, just enough to feel her warmth, to let her know I’m here.

She doesn’t pull away.

In fact, she leans into me—barely, just a fraction of an inch—but it’s enough to make something warm bloom in my chest.

“It’s easier to let him do what he does,” I say casually, tilting my head toward Ashton.

---