Page 94 of Craving Their Omega

“I’m flattered.”

“Don’t act like it’s some kind of charity,” Dominic says. “It’s not like we don’t get anything out of it.”

It feels easy to flirt with them now, and I guess there’s a lot that can change after spending a few days in a room getting my brains fucked out by them.

But of course, Tristan doesn’t join in and he doesn’t say anything about orgasms or involving himself in Xavier and Dominic’s promise. He’s focused on his breakfast, eating steadily, even though I can tell he’s listening.

I try to ignore the way it makes me feel. For that one shining period of time, Tristan’s focus was all on me. He wanted me, and he didn’t make a secret of that. Now it feels like being cut off completely, and it makes me feel cold. It hurts worse after we got closer during my heat. He made me feel taken care of and there was an intimacy there.

I know I can’t expect him to continue on like that. He took care of me because I needed him, and I guess he feels like I don’t anymore. It wouldn’t be right for me to ask for anything else of him.

He never promised me his heart or anything, and I definitely can’t ask for it.

By unspoken agreement, we all settle on having a relaxing day. Dominic and Tristan help clean up the kitchen after breakfast, and I get the urge to bake something.

I take over the kitchen while the three of them sit at the table, and I don’t feel self-conscious about having them watch me work.

I measure and weigh out flour and sugar, and start zesting and juicing lemons.

“What’s that going to be?” Xavier asks, craning his neck to try to get a better look at what I’m doing.

“Lemon bars,” I tell him. “They were always a big hit at the bakery, and it’s been a long time since I’ve made them.”

“If they’re anything like that cake you made before, I’m going to need a whole tray of them to myself.”

“Glutton,” Dominic mutters under his breath.

“Yeah, because you definitely didn’t have a slice for breakfast the next day, Dom,” Xavier fires back.

Dominic doesn’t refute the accusation. Instead, he changes the subject. “Tell us more about your bakery,” he says.

I glance over at him. “It was… I don’t know. I thought it was going to be something big. You saw the building, it was perfect. Lots of windows and natural light, and I hung these gauzy gold curtains over them. I did lemon bars and different kinds of cookies and muffins fresh every day, and they were in the display case by the counter.”

“What else did you sell?” Xavier asks.

“All kinds of stuff. Scones, biscuits, the real southern kind, sometimes with cheese and chives, or garlic and onion. Sometimes with blueberry, and people really liked those. I did cakes too, and I rotated flavors twice a week. I wanted to get into doing special orders for birthdays and stuff, but I never got the chance to get it off the ground.”

I keep telling them more and more about the bakery, talking as I make lemon curd on the stove. It’s easy to get lost in talking about it. About all the things I got to do while the bakery was open and all the things I wanted to do that I never got the chance to.

The three of them listen raptly, sometimes asking questions, sometimes just listening to me go on about things.

“I was worried at first, because there’s so many little places in this town that have baked goods, but I realized they’re all different. Some of them are more corporate, and you can tell they’re selling mass produced stuff that comes out of a plastic package, and that’s all well and good if that’s what you want. Butthe little places have special touches, personal touches from the bakers, and that’s what makes them special.”

“What kind of touches did you have?” Tristan asks, and I look at him for a second before tearing my gaze away.

“I tried to remember my regulars, for one. There was this lady who always stopped by on her way to pick her kids up from school in the afternoon. I knew she liked the lemon bars and her two kids were partial to the chocolate chip cookies, so I’d have a box ready to go for her so she could take it and go on her way. She told me sometimes it was the only treat she got all day, and that made me feel good, to be able to provide that for her. Everything that people bought to go went in these little boxes, and I put preprinted thank you notes in each one because I wanted everyone to know how grateful I was for their business.”

“That’s actually incredible,” Xavier says. “I would have loved to go to a place like that. I bet my siblings would have loved it too.”

I shrug, dusting off my hands on my apron. “I mean, it was nice in theory, but it didn’t save the bakery in the end. I still ran out of money because I was too bad at business to keep the place afloat.”

Dominic frowns. “It doesn’t sound like you’re bad at business, little bird,” he says. “Xavier’s always going on about how the clients—customers in your case—are so important, and it seems like you did your best to do make sure they kept coming back.”

“I guess so, but there’s more to it than that, right? Money is important, and I wasn’t good at that part of it. The rent on the building increased several times, and I wasn’t ready to handle it. I didn’t have enough set aside, and I should have been more willing to cut back on ingredients or something to make ends meet. I just didn’t have enough business to keep up, and that’s on me.”

All three of them frown now, exchanging looks. “How many times did the rent go up?” Xavier asks.

“I don’t know… four times maybe? Maybe five.”

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