Unhappily Ever After

Chapter 39 - A Bad Idea

This one's for @FrostDragon2951for voting and commenting and just generally being awesome :)

Three hours later, I walked into the Silver Lake pack house with a duffel bag and a lopsided grin. It was much busier than normal: I had to slow my pace to join the steady flow of people through the main corridor. Ordinarily the place was full of the youths who lived there, but the age spectrum had widened for the afternoon to include toddlers and the pack elders.

I made a beeline straight towards the kitchens, because they would need all the help they could get to make enough food for three hundred people, and that would include my mate. When the smell of food cooking had reached its peak, I turned off into the huge, cavernous kitchen at the very heart of the pack house.

It was a room full of women — that was the first thing I noticed. That meant two things. Firstly, the Silver Lake men must have thought cooking was beneath them, which pissed me off. And, secondly, I stuck out like a sore thumb. I had the attention of half the helpers before I had even crossed the threshold. And that spooked me enough to bring me to a self-conscious halt.

"Can I ... um, help you?" one of them asked.

I could do without that sort of attention. I had been late turning my scent off, and if anyone got too close, they might get a whiff of rogue from my clothing. "No, thank you."

And that of course only served to make things more awkward, so I almost fell over myself trying to get past her and craned my neck scouring the room for my mate. Eventually, I spotted her crouching in front of an oven, arms wrapped around her knees while she stared at something within.

I went over and crouched beside her. We were very close — I could hear the whisper of her breaths and feel the fabric of her hoodie scuffing against my upper arm. Once I had gotten over that, I peered into the dark interior of the oven. There was a tray of roast potatoes, carrots and parsnips, and they were just approaching the perfect degree of crispness.

"Hi," I said quietly.

"Hi," she replied without turning her head, a tiny smile on her lips.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt this ... most ... crucial task."

She slapped my knee absent-mindedly, nearly knocking me over. "You can shut up. It's the only thing I've got to do, so I'm going to damn well do it right."

"No, of course," I drawled. "Allow me to help."

The seconds turned to minutes and I had to sit on the floor to give my knees a break. There was a lot of staring from the women around us, but Jess didn't seem to notice and so I ignored it. I could ignore just about anything while I was sat beside my mate.

And, finally, rather abruptly, Jess decided they were ready. Instead of using oven gloves, like any ordinary person, she pulled the sleeves of her hoodie over her hands and snatched the trays and dumped them on top of the oven. I stood up with her, trying to smother the urge to smack them out of her hands before she burnt herself.

"Damn, that's hot," she muttered.

"You think?" I retorted.

She showed me her palms, which were ink-stained but unharmed. "Oh, it's okay, see? I do it all the time."

"I see," I agreed dryly. "So can you run out for a few minutes? Or is potato duty too important?"

Jess sighed. "Oh, please. I've got twenty minutes before I have to touch the next lot."

I helped her scrape the cooked vegetables into dishes. Then another two ready-prepared trays were shoved into the oven, and Jess washed her hands in a nearby sink, and I scoffed a roast potato while her eyes were elsewhere. It was probably better than anything our chefs on Anglesey had ever managed, if I was being honest and a little biased.