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Rhett rests his hand lightly on the hollow of my back, leading me to sit on the bench in front of the table.

I trace my finger over the berry, acorn, and butterfly on the underside of the table, which Evan carved when we first moved in here.

Angel is dressed in a sky-blue cashmere sweater and joggers with Evan’s apron tied over it.

For a moment, I look at him, and I see Evan smiling at me.

I know that’s not fair, but hell, my heart aches.

Standing in front of the giant cast iron range that dominates one side of the kitchen, Angel looks like he has stood there every morning of his life.

He appears comfortable, as he pulls a plate closer to the range where bacon sizzles, curling at the edges like I love.

“Who’s hungry?” Angel asks, brightly.

“Me,” I blurt before I can even pretend to act cool.

I can smell and hear all my favorites cooking at once: bacon, sausages, eggs, and even tacos.

Evan, Beau, and I were only average cooks.

Evan would have lived on cookies alone if Beau had allowed him to get away with it.

We took turns at cooking, making food to keep ourselves fueled, rather than as an act of love and service like I can see in Angel’s eyes.

I can’t wait to eat this breakfast.

“Looks like we’re feeding our hungry Omega first.” Rhett strokes his hand over my lower back, and I melt into his touch. “Do you want to sit on my lap and be handfed?”

My eyes widen.

I clench my thighs together.

My Omega instincts want that so damn much. At the same time, I remember the last time that Beau held me on his lap, feeding me chocolate, and I feel like if Rhett says the wrong thing right now, he may shatter me all over again.

And I can’t bear to break right now.

Rhett’s expression gentles with understanding. “You don’t need to if it’s too much. We don’t need to talk. But we could start with something simple.”

“I baked pecan muffins, beautiful.” Angel bends over and pulls a tray out of the oven, strolling with the tray to the table.

He drops the muffins in front of me like an offering to a goddess.

The muffins are worthy of being one. They are large, with their golden domed tops spilling out of their paper cases. They are topped with nuts and a glistening sugar glaze.

“His baking skills are why I bonded him,” Rhett says, dryly.

Angel doesn’t deny it.

He winks. “I have other skills.”

I lick my lips. “Feed me.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Angel leans against the table, smiling. His curls fall over his eyes. “Don’t tease her, handsome. Look at that face. Are you going to make her beg?”

“You know me too well.” Rhett smirks. “But not about this.”

He shuffles back on the bench, simply leaving his lap empty for me.