Kane’s POV
Mrs. Parker, the staff mber in charge of cleaning my place, arrived. She was efficient, quiet, and knew how to keep out of my personal business, which was exactly why I liked having her around.
When she walked into the kitchen and saw standing over the ss of batter, her eyes widened slightly in surprise. "Alpha," she greeted, bowing her head respectfully.
"Morning, Mrs. Parker," I said, trying to sound casual as I flipped another pancake—and promptly overcooked it.
She looked at , her expression carefully neutral. "Would you like to prepare breakfast for you today?"
It would’ve been easy to say yes, to let her take over and fix the disaster I’d created. But sothing in refused. This wasn’t about just making breakfast—it was about doing sothing for Elena. Sothing small but aningful.
"Not today," I told her, forcing a smile. "Actually, I was going to suggest you take the day off. Go ho, rest. Tomorrow, though, I’ll need you to bring soone in to fix the guest room bathroom door."
Her brows lifted slightly, but she didn’t ask questions. That was another thing I liked about her—she didn’t pry. "As you wish, Alpha," she said, gathering her cleaning supplies.
I walked her to the door, watching her leave before returning to the kitchen to confront my nesis: breakfast.
I wasn’t going to give up. Not today. Not when this was for her.
By the ti I heard the shower stop, I’d managed to make a passable stack of pancakes—only slightly overcooked—and had scrambled so eggs. It wasn’t perfect, but it was edible.
Hearing her soft footsteps approaching, I quickly set the plates on the table, brushing my hands on my jeans to try and look more composed than I felt.
When Elena walked into the kitchen, her hair still damp and her cheeks flushed from the shower, she paused, her eyes landing on the table.
"You... cooked?" she asked, her voice laced with surprise and, I hoped, a little bit of admiration.
"Don’t sound so shocked," I said, pulling out a chair for her. "I told you I’m capable of more than you think."
She smirked, sitting down and examining the food. "Hmm. We’ll see."
Despite her teasing tone, I could see the softness in her eyes, the way her lips curved into a small smile. And in that mont, as we sat down together for a breakfast I’d poured my heart into, I knew it had been worth the chaos of the morning.
She examined the plate in front of her, poking one of the pancakes with her fork. "But I might have a point. These look... interesting."
"Elena," I warned, narrowing my eyes.
"What? I’m just saying, they’re... unique." She bit back a laugh, but I could see the sparkle of amusent in her eyes.
Despite her teasing, she took a bite, and her expression softened almost instantly.
"They’re good," she said after a mont, her tone quieter.
I raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
She nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Really. Thank you, Kane."
Her words, simple as they were, sent a surge of warmth through . It wasn’t just about the pancakes—it was the fact that she appreciated the effort. That she saw trying.
"You’re welco," I said, my voice softer now.
As I watched her, the sunlight catching in her hair and illuminating her face, I couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude. For the first ti in a long while, things were starting to feel... right.
And I’d be damned if I let anything ruin that.
Whatever it took to make her happy, I’d do it. Burnt pancakes and all.
As we sat at the table, the tension was finally easing, even with my failed attempt at breakfast staring us in the face. Elena had been picking at her pancake more than actually eating it, but I figured maybe she was just being shy. It wasn’t until she started looking too focused on chewing, her expression tightening like she was fighting for her life, that I realized sothing was wrong.
Trying to salvage the mont, I leaned back in my chair and said casually, "You know, I could cook lunch for you too if you’d like."
The words were barely out of my mouth when she shot up from her chair. "No, no, no. Absolutely not. No more cooking for you," she said, waving her hands in front of her like I’d just suggested sothing catastrophic.
I froze, blinking up at her. Her reaction was... dramatic, to say the least. The pieces began to click together, and my stomach sank. The pancakes. They’re awful, aren’t they?
I cleared my throat, trying to play it cool but failing miserably. "Wait a second," I said slowly, narrowing my eyes at her. "Are they... are they that terrible?"
Elena hesitated, her expression caught between guilt and humor, like she wasn’t sure how to break the news without crushing . "Uh... well," she started, and then gave the weakest, most apologetic nod I’ve ever seen.
I stared at her, dumbfounded. "But you said they were good!"
She winced, and her voice softened like she was trying to comfort a wounded animal. "I didn’t want to hurt your feelings."
That was it. The confidence I’d been clinging to shattered. "Oh, fuck," I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck. "I’m really stupid, aren’t I?"
Elena gave a small, sheepish smile. "No, not stupid. Just... maybe not the world’s greatest cook."
"Gee, thanks," I grumbled, leaning forward to glare at the offending pancakes. My pride demanded I at least try them myself, so I grabbed a fork, cut off a piece, and shoved it into my mouth.
The second it hit my tongue, I regretted every decision that led to this mont. Yuck. It was like eating soggy cardboard with a hint of burnt sadness. I forced it down with difficulty and glared at the plate. "So much for my romantic breakfast," I murmured under my breath.
I heard Elena laugh softly, and when I looked up, she was standing beside , her arms crossed and a teasing smirk on her face. "Well," she said, tilting her head slightly, "I’ll let you assist with lunch. Maybe. But only if you promise not to touch the stove."
Her words, playful as they were, sent a small flicker of hope through . "You’d actually let help?" I asked, looking up at her with a raised eyebrow.
She rolled her eyes but smiled. "I’ll allow it. But we’re keeping things simple."
I couldn’t stop the grin that tugged at the corners of my mouth. It wasn’t the sweeping romantic gesture I’d envisioned, but the fact that she was willing to let be part of sothing—even sothing as simple as making lunch together—felt like a win.
As she walked to the fridge, she pulled out a loaf of bread and a carton of juice. She placed them on the table and began pouring two glasses of juice. "For now," she said, handing one of the glasses, "let’s just stick to sothing safe for breakfast. Bread and juice."
I chuckled softly, taking the glass from her. "Safe, huh? You don’t trust to redeem myself with sothing else?"
She gave a pointed look. "Not unless you plan on taking cooking lessons in the next five minutes."
I shook my head, grinning despite myself. "Harsh."
"Honest," she corrected, taking a sip of her juice.
We sat back down at the table, sharing a quiet mont as we munched on the makeshift breakfast. It wasn’t fancy or elaborate—just bread and juice—but sohow, it felt... good. Comfortable.
"You’re really serious about this, huh?" I asked after a while, breaking the silence.
She raised an eyebrow. "Serious about what?"
"Letting help with lunch," I clarified, leaning forward slightly. "You’re not just saying that to make feel better?"
Elena’s lips quirked into a small smile, and she shrugged. "I figure if we’re going to be mates, we might as well learn how to tolerate each other in the kitchen. Besides," she added, her tone light and teasing, "soone’s gotta make sure you don’t poison yourself."
I laughed, a deep, genuine sound that even surprised a little. "Fair enough."
As we finished our simple breakfast, I found myself watching her more than I cared to admit. There was sothing about the way she moved—effortless and unguarded—that made my chest feel lighter. She didn’t even seem to realize how much she affected , how much every little thing she did seed to draw in further.
For years, I’d been searching, waiting for the mate that was supposed to complete . And now, here she was—fiery, stubborn, and entirely unlike anyone I’d ever known. She wasn’t perfect, and neither was I, but maybe that was the point. Maybe we didn’t have to be perfect, as long as we were willing to et each other halfway.
"So," I said as we stood up to clear the table, "what’s the plan for lunch?"
Elena turned to , a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Sothing easy. Sothing you can’t ss up."
"Challenge accepted," I said with a smirk, following her into the kitchen.
And as we started rummaging through the fridge together, her laughter filling the room as I tried to sneak a piece of cheese and failed miserably, I realized sothing.
It didn’t matter if I wasn’t the world’s greatest cook. It didn’t matter if my first attempt at a romantic breakfast had been a total disaster. What mattered was this—the laughter, the banter, the small steps we were taking to build sothing together.
And I’d gladly burn a hundred more pancakes if it ant seeing that smile on her face again.
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