Page 88 of Lost
“I…God, there are days where I hate that you’re a fucking brat,” I grumble. “Lars is already at work because he’s been baking, but I’m going to get him now. I figure it’s easier to take one car.”
“He also isn’t a fan of driving in the snow. I bet he hated his life this morning,”Hollis says.
“It’s just part of living here,” I sigh. “After picking him up, I’m going by the thrift store, hardware store, and then we’ll be heading to Nova.”
“Wow. You’re bringing the big guns in, huh?”
Smash rooms are great for rage releasing. This isn’t Lars’ and my first rodeo. I think we’ve been stumbling so hard with Nova because we don’t always have the best people skills, and on some level it felt like we shouldn’t do the same things with her that we do for Hollis.
Except, there’s little difference between taking care of your best female friend and your scent match, outside of your level of feeling toward them. It felt like we were doing something wrong, which led to a lot of fuck ups.
We aren’t cheating on our friendship with Hollis by being good to Nova, and if she knew that was a blip on our radars, she’d be so pissed. Blowing out a breath, I shake my head.
“Sometimes you have to blow shit up to fix things,” I grunt. “Warn your pack and please let us in when we get there.”
“Maybe you should bring her pastries too,” she muses.
“She’s allergic to gluten,” I say immediately. “I don’t think that’ll hinder Lars at all though. You know how he is about being allergy and sensitivity friendly.”
“Ugh, my poor sister,” Hollis groans. “I’m sure that Lars is already tweaking recipes in her honor. Food is his love language.”
“You’re not wrong,” I murmur. “I’m here. Again, this may get messy. I promise no one is getting murdered.”
“The guys took all of my weapons away. We’re supposed to be doing absolutely nothing today. You should be safe.”
Hollis hangs up as I park in the alley next to the coffee shop, and I hop out of the vehicle as I roll my eyes. It’s colder than a witch’s tit outside. I can only hope that the weather will get a bit warmer, or I’ll be doing this all with a very bundled up omega.
Using my key at the back door, I call out to my brother so he doesn’t think I’m an intruder. I can hear the music blasting in the kitchen and sigh. I’m going to have to take a chance at being punched it seems.
Why is everyone in my life so violent?Well, Nova isn’t, but it’s kind of surprising for me at times.
Walking into the kitchen, I stand still and wait for my brother to finish pulling something out of the oven before I wave at him. Even still, it takes forever for him to raise his eyes.
“Oh,” his mouth moves more than I can hear him, and he moves to turn off his music. In the aftermath of his rage music, the kitchen seems to echo in the silence.
“The Franco estate is burning,” I say in greeting. “Nova is feeling kind of raw in the aftermath according to Tyde, who is at the hospital saving lives or some shit.”
Lars hums under his breath as he nods, brows knitting. “Are we thinking the same thing?”
“If that includes buying the ugliest antiques for her to smash in the backyard, then yes,” I grunt.
“Let me clean up here,” he says. “I’m just about ready to open. I just need to set all of this to cool. The catering orders are ready too. Fuck, I’m going to make lists for my incoming people.”
“You need a manager or two,” I sigh. “This place is almost always busy, Lars.”
“Pot calling the kettle black much?”
“Yeah, yeah. Orla has taken up that mantle already,” I grumble. “It’s time to loosen the reins a little.”
Lars makes a face at me, but I can tell that I made an impression upon him. He cleans up the kitchen, labels everything as it cools, and then begins to pack up a box of treats.
“They’re gluten free,” he says, glaring at me as I raise my hands in the air with a smirk. “I made them before I started using regular flour this morning, and kept them in a separate area.”
Now that he says that, I can see that he’s actually packing the treats up on a far off counter.
“I believe you,” I murmur, not wanting to get smacked over the head for reminding him of how predictable he is. “What did you make?”
“Muffins, lemon squares, bagels, and cookies,” he mumbles.
