Page 70 of The Flavor of Us

I shoot Ashton a glare, my eyes narrowing. “Stop it,” I hiss under my breath. I’m still pissed at him for putting it there. At least Ryder put it on my shoulder, right beside Carleen’s.

Ashton smirks, those long lashes fluttering as he tilts his head and leans closer. “Stop what, little doe? I’m just enjoying myself.”

Before I can respond, Ryder clears his throat. The sound cuts through whatever ridiculousness Ashton and I are tangled in. His blue eyes flick between us, narrowed, and he says absolutely nothing, but the look is clear:Behave.

I sit back in my chair with a dramatic sigh, crossing my arms over my chest. Ashton just grins, unbothered, like he’s won this little round of our ongoing war.

The faint murmur of conversation drifts in from the kitchen where my mother is undoubtedly grilling Carleen over recipes or techniques or some other culinary nonsense.

“Tati.”

I glance up to see my dad walking in from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel slung over his shoulder. He’s wearing an old apron withKiss the Cookwritten in faded letters across the front. He stops just in front of my chair, one brow lifted, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“You look happy, baby girl.” His voice is warm, thick with emotion that makes me into a little puddle. “Happier than I’ve seen you in a long time.”

I swallow the sudden lump in my throat and nod. “I am happy.”

His eyes flick briefly to Ashton, who sits there looking all smug and golden in the candlelight. Then his gaze shifts to Ryder, who’s sitting like a mountain carved out of stone, watching quietly like he’s waiting for something to pounce on.

“Well,” my dad says, turning back to me, “I guessthisis the troublemaker.” He juts his chin toward Ashton with a teasing smile.

Ashton raises both hands like he’s surrendering. “Guilty as charged, sir.”

My dad laughs—a deep, rumbling sound that makes me grin—and then pats Ashton on the shoulder before heading back to the kitchen, the towel still clutched in his hand. The moment he’s gone, Ashton leans toward me again, his lips brushing right against my ear.

“You are happy though, right, Tati?” His voice is low, his breath warm as it skates over the sensitive skin.

A shiver runs through me and I have to bite back a moan as I press my thighs together. My nails dig into my palm as I whisper, “I swear to the goddess, Ashton, I’m going to have your ass when we get home.”

He chuckles, lips grazing my ear again. “My ass, sweetheart? That’s reserved for Ryder.MaybeCarleen.”

Before I can hiss back a response, a loud clink pulls our attention to the head of the table. Carleen emerges from the kitchen, carrying a massive pot of spaghetti that smells like it was blessed by some kind of food deity. Her curls have gotten a little long, now tied back, little wisps escaping and curling around her face as she sets the pot down with a flourish.

“What’s maybe only for Carleen?” she asks, one brow raised as she stares between Ashton and me.

My mouth opens, then closes, and then opens again because I was absolutely not prepared for Ashton’s response. Ashton, the menace, just grins and leans back in his chair, utterly shameless.

I point at him. “Ashton said his ass is only for Ryder. And maybe you.”

Carleen freezes for a fraction of a second before tilting her head, her lips twitching like she’s trying not to smile. “Did he now?”

Ashton shrugs one shoulder, still wearing that damn smirk. “What can I say? Gotta keep my options open.”

Carleen gives him a long, unimpressed look before shaking her head and turning back toward the kitchen. “You’re all ridiculous.Behave before one of Tati’s parents overhears and decides we’re not good enough for their daughter.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ashton says with a mock salute, but I don’t miss the way his eyes linger on her as she disappears around the corner. Ryder catches my gaze from across the table, his mouth twitching into what might almost be considered a smile. It’s fleeting, but it’s there, and it makes something warm and gooey settle deep in my chest. Ashton catches me staring and reaches over to squeeze my shoulder, his thumb rubbing little circles that feeldangerouslyclose to the mark on my ear again.

“Stop it,” I hiss, swatting his hand away.

“Never,” he replies, his grin sharp and far too pleased with himself.

Carleen and my parents finally make it to the table, everyone doling out heaping plates of artisan spaghetti. She scoots Ryder off, taking the spot next to me, right where she belongs. This feels like home. Safe.Perfect.Even with Ashton trying to make me melt into a puddle in front of my parents.

My mom is mid-story, waving her fork in the air for emphasis while my dad shakes his head, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. Ashton’s grinning beside me, leaning back in his chair like he owns the place, while Ryder listens quietly, his lips twitching every now and then when Mama gets particularly animated.

And then there’s Carleen.

She’s next to me, her shoulder pressed against mine, her glass of wine cradled between her fingers as she listens with thatquiet, observant gaze of hers. Her pixie curls are a little wild from being in the kitchen earlier, a faint flush still lingering across her cheeks. And goddess, if I’m not completely gone for her.

---