Page 73 of Rules to Love By

“I know. But Kreed loves his kitchen more than anything except probably Lucky. And I’m crowding it.”

“Why? Because he can’t take a little competition?”

“Because it’s his kitchen. His house. His baby.” Tris glanced up. “His safe space.”

“You’re not a threat to him.”

“No. But I’m in his space. And yes, he invited me into it, and they do need someone other than just him. But maybe not me anymore.”

Marcus stopped his vigorous whisking and almost threw the bowl onto the counter, ready to bolt. “Not me. Don’t even—”

“Whisk.” Tris pointed at the bowl.

Marcus added more sugar instead, badly covering his moment of panic.

“And don’t get your panties in a twist. I wasn’t thinking of you. I was only thinking maybe it was time for us to look for someone new for him to teach. He’s good at that. And if a new apprentice doesn’t mesh with him, well…” He shrugged, picked up a rolling pin and smacked it down on the dough with a loudthwack. “I can use people at the shelter. Not like I’m going to run a whole kitchen by myself. For one, it’ll be a lot more work than this place, and for another, it’ll be twenty-four seven. So I’ll need people.”

Marcus focused on keeping his whisking steady, his gaze fixed on the constant movement of the silky white froth in his bowl. “So. You’re settling down.”

“Don’t act like you’re surprised.”

“I mean, it’s a good town.”

“There’s a place for me here. Where I’m needed. Where I can help kids, like I was trying to do in the city, but in a way that will actually be good for them. And me.”

More sugar. More whisking. “If I was to go back to the diner…”

“It’s a forty-minute drive. A phone call. We’ve already talked about this.”

“As a hypothetical.”

“I’m good here, Marcus. Ozzy and me, we’re good. I can imagine moving in with him someday. Not tomorrow or anything. But you know. After I get settled. Established.”

“Your own apartment. Your own kitchen. Look at you acting like a real adult.”

“About time, eh?”

“I tried.” Marcus scowled into his bowl, remembering how many times he’d tried to make Tris take working at the diner seriously.

“I know you did. It wasn’t about you.”

“No, I know.”

“Hey.” Tris put his hand, flour and all, on Marcus’s. “I’m not leaving you behind, right?”

“No, I know.” He blinked, because fuck it if his eyes didn’t sting and his throat close. Again. He pulled free to resume whisking sugar into the meringue.

For a long time, they worked, the only conversation being Tris’s directions on how to make the little meringue droplets that would go on the cake he took out of the oven.

“No one is trying to tell you how to live your life. You know that, right?” he asked as he replaced the cake with the pie crusts.

Marcus grunted, plopping back onto his stool and setting the piping bag he’d been using down. Iris had constantly told him exactly how he should live his life. It had been easy when she was there and he was young. Harder as he got older. Impossible once Johnathan was there.

And then she’d been gone, and no way would Marcus live his life by Johnathan’s rules.

“You think I should go back to the city.”

“I think you’re trying hard to slot yourself into a space here that doesn’t fit you very well.”

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