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I beam at him, grabbing an apron to put on. “Just tell me what you want me to do, chef.”

He pokes me with a spatula. “None of that, I can’t afford to get horny when I need someone who works for me to actually call me chef.”

I laugh, giving him a little salute. He sets me to separating eggs, putting the whites in one bowl and the yolks in another. I focus on the task, making sure I don’t get shell in there, but watch Tate move around, gathering the things he needs to make a full spread.

“You know, one of the best things about us staying together is that I get to eat your cooking long term,” I tell him.

He grins at me as he starts mixing dry ingredients. “I like the idea of feeding you long term. I’m sure you don’t eat well when you’re on the road being a big music star.”

“Not as well as I should, definitely.”

“Then you’ll be able to come back to a home cooked meal that you know was made with love, just for you. Ares and Callan can starve.”

I laugh, so caught up in the good feelings fluttering in my stomach. “I mean, they can just go to your new restaurant if they want something to eat, right? It’ll be almost the same.”

Tate’s expression shifts from teasing amusement to something more serious. “Actually, I’m not going to be opening the new place,” he says.

I stare at him, shocked. “What do you mean? Why?”

He shrugs a shoulder. “It would have kept me too busy. It would have been too much of a reach. I already have amazing restaurants, and I don’t need more.”

“Tate…”

“What I need most is time. Time to cook for the gorgeous singer I’ve fallen for, and to eat my favorite meal. Her pussy.”

My cheeks flush, my body reacting to that immediately. Tate winks, taking control of the eggs I was working on.

Just outside the door, I hear Ares and Callan talking in low voices. It sounds serious, so I go over and poke my head out, wondering what’s happened and fearing the worst. Maybe my parents are outside. Maybe Ares’ parents are outside. Maybe there’s a team of reporters, all trying to get a comment about what’s going on.

Ares looks up at me, and there’s an expression of guilt on his face that makes me pause.

“What’s going on?” I ask, looking between the two of them.

“It’s nothing that bad,” Ares says, but he’s still grimacing.

“If you don’t tell me what it is, I’m just going to start catastrophizing,” I warn him.

“It’s just that none of us got you a Christmas present,” he says in a rush. “I had no idea any of this would happen when we left Atlanta. I knew I was going to see you, but I didn’t know it would be like this.” He gestures between us. “So I didn’t plan for a gift. None of us did. And we don’t really do gifts for each other, so we just… don’t have anything.”

Relief hits me that it’s nothing serious, followed by a warm sort of fondness that this seems to mean so much to Ares. He wasn’t kidding about trying to do things right this time, clearly.

“That’s okay, Ares,” I tell him. “I didn’t get you guys anything either.”

Ares shakes his head, face set in stubborn lines. “It’s not okay.” He glances at Callan and then over my head to where Tate has come to see what we’re talking about. “There’s… something we could give you, if you want it. But no pressure if you don’t. It’s just an idea.”

“What is it?”

“A tattoo,” Callan answers. “We were talking about it last night after you fell asleep. I did some sketching, and they gave their input. I’d be the one putting it on you, but it would be from all of us.”

I blink, surprised at the gesture. Nerves fill me when I think of something permanent like that, and needles and ink and everything that goes into it. But at the same time, there’s a thrill of excitement under my skin. This whole trip has been about doing things I never thought I would do, so why not commemorate it and this new relationship by doing another big thing?

“Okay,” I tell them. “Let’s do it.”

Callan smiles, and it lights up his whole face.

“Breakfast first,” Tate says firmly. “No one is getting tattooed or doing any tattoos on an empty stomach. I need another half hour before everything is ready.”

“Yes, chef,” Callan says, giving Tate a lazy salute.