Page 24 of Noah

Colton was already there, pulling out trays of vegetables and muttering about someone who’d left the carrots unwashed.

“Where’s Ethan?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

“We swapped shifts,” I replied, grabbing an apron from the hook.

Colton merely shrugged, and that was that.

We settled into a rhythm quickly. I peeled and chopped while Colton portioned everything into trays, occasionally barking out instructions like he was running a five-star kitchen.

He had a knack for keeping things moving, even if it came with a side of bossiness.

At one point, I picked at some leftover scraps—perfectly edible but too uneven to plate—and popped one into my mouth.

Colton immediately called me out, muttering something about portions and kitchen standards like I’d just committed a cardinal sin.

I laughed it off, not really in the mood to get into a fight, tossed the rest into the compost bin, and we kept working without missing a beat.

Despite his griping, it was good. Easy. For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt like I could breathe—like I didn’t have to measure every word or plaster on a polite, professional mask.

For a moment, I caught myself wondering… could it ever be like this with Jackson? Could we find that same rhythm, that same ease?

I shoved the thought away, focusing on the task at hand.

As I stacked the last of the trays onto the cart, Colton stopped mid-motion, his gaze darting over my shoulder. His expression shifted.

“What is it?” I asked, turning to follow his line of sight.

And then I saw him. Jackson.

He was just standing there, arms crossed, watching us. Quiet, steady, unreadable.

The grin dropped off my face. I could feel my skin warm, despite myself.

Not from anything I’d done, but from the fact that he’d caught me like that—laughing, at ease—the kind of thing I hadn’t done around him in years.

It didn’t add up. I hadn’t done anything wrong, but it felt like I had.

I straightened, the easy warmth from moments ago replaced with something cooler, more polite. “Jackson. Something you need?”

Colton frowned, looking between us. “What’s wrong with you? You were fine two seconds ago.”

"I’m fine," I said quickly, brushing him off. “I’m taking a break, Colton.”

Colton shrugged. “Alright, but hurry back. Dinner starts soon.” He gave Jackson one last curious glance before heading to the walk-in fridge.

I felt Jackson’s gaze on me as he stepped closer.

“Can we talk?” he asked.

I hesitated, my stomach twisting into a tight knot. I glanced through the window at the benches outside, looking for a familiar silhouette, then back at the door leading to the pack house.

Using Griffin as an excuse to avoid this conversation wasn’t exactly subtle, but it had worked so far.

“Griffin’s still in a meeting,” Jackson said quietly, his voice cutting through my thoughts like he already knew what I was thinking.

My jaw tightened. Of course, he’d noticed. He probably knew what I was doing this whole time.

“Fine,” I muttered. “Follow me.”

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