Page 14 of Twins for the Mountain Daddies

It’s clear they’ve done this a hundred times before.

I’m still sitting on the stool, feeling more and more like an outsider when Wyatt finally looks over. “You good with stew?”

I blink. “Stew?”

Holt smirks as he grabs a potato from the pile. “Yeah, you know—warm, hearty, made in a pot. Usually has meat and vegetables in it.”

I roll my eyes. “I know what stew is.”

“Good,” Wyatt says, lips twitching. “Because that’s what you’re getting.”

I shift on the stool, watching them. The mouth-watering scent of stew already fills the kitchen, and my stomach clenches in response. I might not have a plan yet, but at least I won’t go hungry.

Still, sitting here while they do all the work feels…wrong. Like I’m just mooching off their hospitality.

“I can help,” I offer, standing up.

Wyatt glances at me over his shoulder, a slow grin tugging at his lips. “You cook?”

“Sure,” I say automatically. How hard can it be?

Holt smirks. “All right, city girl. You can chop the potatoes.”

I grab a knife and a potato, but as soon as I press the blade to the skinless hunk, doubt creeps in. I’ve never actually done this before. There were always people for that—chefs, caterers, housekeepers. My mother would’ve rather set herself on fire than let me be seen doing something as “common” as cooking. Not only was it beneath us, it would ruin the dumb, helpless, party girl image the network so carefully curated.

I try to ignore the unfamiliar weight of the knife in my hand, but it’s obvious within seconds that I have no idea what I’m doing. The blade scrapes awkwardly over the potato, taking offrandom chunks, and after a minute of struggling, Holt bursts out laughing.

“All right, move over,” he says, plucking both the knife and potato from my hands. “Before you take off a finger.”

“I’m not completely helpless,” I argue, crossing my arms. But I feel like I am. Maybe I am just a dumb, helpless party girl.

“Never said you were,” he replies, expertly chopping the potato in a few smooth strokes. “But we’ve got this. You just sit there and keep us entertained.”

I huff but sink back onto the stool, my cheeks warm. I’m not used to feeling out of my depth like this. But the truth is, I don’t belong here. Not in this cabin, not in this storm, and certainly not in a kitchen where two men who barely know me are making me dinner like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

I'm out of my element, an actor without a script on an unfamiliar stage.

The sound of a door creaking open draws my attention. Hank steps out of his room, freshly showered, his dark hair still damp, curling slightly at the ends. He’s wearing a plain, fitted T-shirt and a pair of worn jeans, and damn it all, the man looks like he just walked off a rugged-outdoorsman calendar.

Not that it matters.

Because the second his gaze lands on me, his expression hardens like granite.

He barely acknowledges me as he heads straight for the kitchen, pausing only to grab a mug from the cabinet. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t even look in my direction, just pours himself a cup of coffee like I don’t exist.

Right. Okay, then.

I shift in my seat, oddly irritated by the blatant brush-off.

Maybe this is my type. Hot assholes who treat me like crap. That would explain a lot, honestly.

When dinner’s done, I sit stiffly at the table, pushing a piece of whatever-the-hell-this-is around my plate while the guys eat like they’re starring in some kind of eating competition. They talk, laugh, settle into an easy rhythm that only comes from years of familiarity. Well, Wyatt and Holt do. Hank contributes in grunts, shrugs, and the occasional one-word response.

I, on the other hand, feel like an outsider crashing a dinner party I wasn’t invited to.

Then, something warm and fuzzy plops into my lap.

I jolt, glancing down to find a pair of mismatched eyes staring up at me. Up close, it’s somehow even uglier. Its wiry fur sticks out in random directions, looking like it lost a battle with a weed whacker. Its face looks perpetually disgruntled. It’s like the cat was put together out of spare parts and has been holding a grudge about it ever since.

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