FULL NOVELXO Chapter 22
Chapter 22 Brooklyn
I spend a restless night in my new room. When the clock reads 7:00a.m., a knock comes at my door and it opens without waiting for a response. I glare and make a mental note to somehow get a lock.
"Ah! You're awake." The same woman who dressed me last night bustles into the room. "You're already late, my dear."
"Seven?" I ask, looking at the clock again. "Seven is late?"
"The household starts at five," she says, coming over and starting to make the bed while I'm still in it. When I head for the door in my pajamas, she makes a small noise of warning. I look back at her. "You'll want to change, my dear," she says. "This house dresses for its meals."
***
No one is in the hall when, dressed in tight fawn-colored pants and a silky green sweater, I walk down the stairs. I hear some noise at the end of the hallway and push through the door there.
I blink in surprise as I suddenly find myself in a gigantic kitchen filled with people. There are mismatched tables scattered all around and, behind a low wall, a restaurant-sized cooking range. From it wafts the scent of breakfast foods-sharp with onions and rich with butter.
My stomach growls, and Lena paws at me a bit.
"Brooklyn!" Hudson says, spotting me from across the room. His face lights up. I can't help returning his smile, he's so cute and genuine.
"Hi," I say, my eyes scanning the busy room as I hurry over to him.
"Are you hungry?" he asks, giving me a happy grin and sitting back down in his place at a small table.
"Um," I say honestly, when was the last time I ate-but my stomach answers for me, giving a big growl that even a human without wolf senses would hear.
He laughs lightly as I sit. "Good, we'll get you something." He raises a hand to signal someone by the cooking range.
The room is just buzzing with people. Guys in suits drinking tiny cups of espresso, guards pass with guns -big guns-passing through, housekeeping staff on their way to their jobs.
From what I can sense, everyone is a wolf shifter. Something about that makes me feel more comfortable. I didn't grow up with a pack, and even though this isn't a pack, either, there's a "pack" feeling to it that warms me.
Everyone is chatting happily, moving along in what is clearly a well-oiled machine.
"Wow, it's so busy in here," I say, staring around at everyone.
Hudson looks around and shrugs. "I guess."
I'm shocked, again, to see Aden come around the corner from the cooking area carrying a big plate of food. I stare at the long white butcher's apron wrapped around his waist, the taut strings only serving to emphasize his trim figure, his broad shoulders.
When I realize I'm biting my lower lip while I look at him, I quickly spit it out and close my mouth. "Good morning, Brooklyn," Aden says, setting the plate in front of me. Shocked, I look back and forth from him to the plate, noting that his apron is spotted with grease.
"Did you...did you make this?" On the plate, scrambled eggs sit next to sausage and peppers,
accompanied by a buttered slice of crusty Italian bread. It looks delicious.
"Surprised?" Aden says. I whip my head up to see that he's smirking at me.
Truly, I am surprised.
"An Italian can't call himself a man if he can't cook his own breakfast," Aden says, glancing around the room with a proud smile. "A breakfast he'd feed his mother, at that."
"Do you want some coffee?" Hudson asks, leaning forward. I nod, and he looks up at his dad. "She takes cappuccino. Is anyone free-"
"I'll see it's done,” Aden says, and I follow his eyes to a gigantic vintage Gaggia Orione espresso machine in the corner. My jaw drops-it's probably the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen.
"Eat up, little one," Aden says, heading back to the kitchen.
I pick up my fork and eagerly start to eat, shaking my head at Hudson, who raises an eyebrow at his
father's nickname for me.
A few minutes later, when my plate is half cleared, Aden comes back with a tiny cappuccino that he slides next to my plate. I give him a smile in thanks and take a sip.
It's absolutely delicious. I lean back
in my chair closing my eyes and savoring the taste of the bitter liquid that coats my tongue, balanced by the sweetness of the milk. These flavors are complimented,
somehow, by...
I open my eyes and my mouth to ask what that extra flavor is, but I freeze when I see Aden staring down
at me, his eyes somehow...hungry.
A blush spreads across my cheek and nose. Why is he looking at me like that?