Page 77 of Black Moon

“What are you doing?” He looked over my shoulder, at my fingers still buried between his soft sweaters.

“I just—” I made a pouty little sound. I wanted something, and I couldn’t even put a name to it. “They’re soft.”

His breath was warm and minty when he chuckled. “Yeah. Yarn’s expensive, but the knitters around here have good taste.”

I stuck my bottom lip out as Linden jostled me to the side. He pulled out one of his sweaters—a thick navy one that looked like the kind of thing a fisherman would wear.

Brows lifted, he held it out to me, and even though I knew this was more than just a sweater, I practically dove into it.

It was every bit as soft as it looked, and the thing practically swallowed me.

It ruffed up my blond hair, knocking it out of place, but I didn’t care. My fingers curled around the cuffs and I grinned up at him.

“Really?”

Really what? I wasn’t totally sure what I was asking, but it didn’t matter. Linden just grinned at me and nodded.

“Really. You can wear it whenever you want.”

Damn if that wasn’t satisfying. I wanted to purr over it. Hell, I wanted to give him something back, and since I didn’t have much with me in Grovetown, and we’d already had sex that morning, there was only one option—food.

I hopped out of the closet and left him to get dressed, rushing down to the kitchen to take stock of what the Groves had to offer.

Like most werewolf households, they didn’t stint on their stores. I found bacon and eggs, and in the pantry, there was some plug-in thing that looked like a really big waffle maker or one of those George Foreman grills.

I wasn’t brave enough to tackle that, but I could handle eggs and bacon. I turned on the oven to heat up and searched for a pan.

It seemed like, this late in the day, we were the only ones in the house. Rowan and Juniper both worked up at the orchard, and it being their busiest season, they’d probably left early.

When someone rang the doorbell, I stared down at myself. I was in a sweater that smelled like—

Like mate, my wolf provided.

It smelled like Linden.

And I hadn’t bothered with pants, just boxers. The sweater was plenty warm, and I didn’t want to get overheated or anything.

Okay, and at the time I hadn’t cared about anything more than wrapping myself up in Linden Grove and making breakfast.

While I was hesitating over what to do, Linden came down. He opened the door while I was putting bacon out on a tray.

“Hey, Zeke,” Linden said down the hall.

I tried not to eavesdrop as I cracked eggs into a bowl and whisked them up with salt and pepper. Unfortunately, the journalist in me wasn’t as polite. I couldn’t help it.

“Can we talk?”

“Of course. I think Colt’s making bacon. You interested?”

Zeke sighed. “Might be good.”

That lack of enthusiasm for my breakfast-making skills almost got my back up. But when they came in, Zeke looked completely downtrodden.

He was tired, the lines on his face deeper than ever. He melted into one of the seats at the kitchen table, and he didn’t spare a glance for my bare legs or state of undress.

Of course, Linden was dressed as properly as ever. He wore a pair of khakis and a cowl-neck sweater in a soft forest green, and I wanted to go bury my nose in it.

Linden wandered over to the counter and put the kettle on. “Tea or coffee?” he asked Zeke. “Either’s fine. Colt’s having coffee. I’m having tea.”

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