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While he was eating, Mila refilled his coffee cup and chatted with Faith. He could’ve eaten the entire pan, but didn’t want to deprive Mila of a second helping when she was ready. He also didn’t want to look too much like a greedy asshole.

“These,” he said, licking his fingers clean. “These need to be on the menu every day.”

Mila chuckled, looking pleased. “I think you’re going to want to try my crullers or Danishes before you decide on one thing forever.”

“Cruller?” Faith asked, looking interested. “I love crullers.”

“I can make a batch for you,” Mila offered.

“No,” Carter said, feeling jealous. “You don’t do that.”

He knew he’d said the wrong thing the moment Mila seemed to shrink into herself. “I’m sorry, you’re right. This is your kitchen, and I’ll be buying ingredients with your money. I shouldn’t offer to make things for other people.”

“That was uncalled for,” Faith said, glaring at him before turning a smile on Mila. “You're an amazing baker. Thank you for the cinnamon roll. It’s time I went home.”

Mila was quick to grab the pan with the remaining cinnamon rolls. “Here, take these. I bought all this with my own money so it’s mine to give away.”

“By all the gods of night and day,” Carter cursed. “I didn’t mean it that way. Of course you can bake for anyone you want. Feed the entire neighborhood, I don’t care. The only thing is that I don’t want you to feel like you have to make stuff for people."

They both ignored him as Faith accepted the pan and came around the island to give Mila a hug. “He means well, but he’s a lot like a giant puppy dog. All impulse and little control.”

Carter didn’t like the comparison, but it seemed to make Mila smile and relax her shoulders a little.

“Thank you for taking care of Carter,” Mila said, returning the hug.

“We’re all lucky he’s got a hard head and a strong will to live,” Faith said, making Mila laugh. They separated and Faith cast him one more warning look before leaving.

Mila made herself busy cleaning up the kitchen and trying hard to pretend he wasn’t there. What was wrong with him? His interpersonal skills weren't normally this bad.

He waited for her to finish rinsing the mixing bowl before trying to get her attention. “Mila?”

“Yes, Mr., um,” she looked up at him. “I’m sorry, I don’t know your last name, sir.”

He really hated this weird formality. “My name is Carter.”

“But I work for you, so I should probably address you as Mr.,” she said with a little shake of her head.

This was going to be a problem. He could see now that Gio hiring her as their chef might make her reluctant to pursue a relationship with them. This was a messy and tricky situation, and he really needed Gio.

“I don’t feel good.” He slumped his shoulders and dropped his head. He wasn’t lying, the effort to get downstairs and stay sitting up on this stool was exhausting.

Mila’s wall of formality vanished, and she rushed around the island.

Rubbing his back, she made a sympathetic noise. “What can I do?”

“Can you help me to the couch?” he asked. It probably wouldn’t be hard to talk her into snuggling with him and watching something for most of the day.

His wolf stayed quiet because Mila pressed into their side to help him stand, then move into the other room. By the time hegot to the couch, he ended up flopping down with a sigh of relief that wasn’t exaggerated.

“Let me get you some more food,” Mila said, looking concerned. “Something with more protein.”

He didn’t want her waiting on him. “Would you sit with me? I don’t want to be alone. We could drink coffee and watch something.”

She nodded. “I’ll bring a tray.”

That sounded good. If she brought a tray, she wouldn't need to leave again. He laid back as she bustled out of the room, eagerly waiting for her to return.

Chapter 13