Page 38 of Accidentally Wedded to a Werewolf (Claw Haven #1)

“—and you told your family something that’s obviously been crushing you for a full year,” she finished, voice rising. “So shut up and let me make you a grilled fucking cheese!”

Oliver blinked.

Luna slapped a hand over her eyes. “Wait, shit, I take that back. I was meant to be making this nice for you, not yelling at you. Go sit down so I can stop yelling at you.”

Oliver snickered.

Luna dropped her hand to find him laughing, head tipped back against the fridge.

“You’re exhausting,” he told her. “I can’t believe everybody back home thinks you’re just a party girl.”

Luna frowned, stung. “I’m not usually like this! I’m breezy. I’m cool. I’m…”

She floundered, fully prepared to start in on what she was like back home: poised and giggly, all fun all the time.

The girl you called if you wanted a baby shower to be a hit without those creepy diaper games.

People loved her back home. She was constantly invited to dinner parties, movie openings and birthdays.

Rooms erupted into cheers when she walked in.

She wasn’t the person you went to if someone needed a first aid kit or a shoulder to cry on, but goddamnit, she was fun.

She was so annoyed that Oliver made her not fun.

Made her into the kind of person who yelled and gave away her last piece of jerky and knew how to put snow chains on her tires.

Oliver cut her off before she could say any of it, those dark eyes so soft on hers. “You could be.”

Luna groaned. “Loud and aggressive and angry?”

He cocked his head, considering. “I just don’t think you’re really…fun party girl all the time. Nobody is.”

Luna’s heart thudded in her chest. The bond was trilling, as it always did when Oliver was close. But her heartbeat was stronger, overpowering the vibrations thrumming down her ribs.

She pulled up another hasty smile. “Wanna bet?”

Then she turned toward the cupboards to hide the blush growing on her cheeks.

“Sit,” she told him, pulling open the cupboard doors and making a show of peering through the canned goods.

A chair scraped out behind her. “If you’re taking requests, I’d… I’d love some cheesy broccoli soup.”

His voice was so tentative that Luna couldn’t help but look back. Oliver was sitting in his chair from this morning, toying with a shredded piece of crust from Luna’s plate.

“My parents used to make it with us before the car crash,” he explained. “It’s one of the last memories I have of them. Cheesy broccoli soup is a Musgrove family staple.”

Luna tilted her head, considering. She’d had cheese in soup before and hadn’t been a fan. But if this was the Musgrove version of a comforting grilled cheese, then so be it.

“I can swing that,” she said, taking out her phone. “What do I google? Do you have a favorite recipe?”

“I do,” he said, standing up. “I can tell you while we make it. Come on,” he added when she glared at him to get back in the chair. “I’ll feel better if I can do something with my hands.”

Luna looked down at his thick fingers. For a second, she thought about taking one into her mouth, telling him she had a better idea of what he could do with his hands.

Then his stomach rumbled again, and all thoughts of his big fingers were put aside.

“Fine,” she said. “What do we do first?”

He opened the fridge and handed her broccoli and a potato.

“Start with these,” he said.

* * *

Five minutes later, they had onions browning on the stove.

Oliver’s doing, of course. Luna was still busy with the broccoli and potatoes.

Oliver had had to teach her how to sharpen a knife after he noticed it was getting blunt.

Then Luna got temporarily distracted by the eyes on the potatoes, which she’d never had to deal with before and spent an inordinate amount of time carving out.

She stood back, admiring her cutting board proudly. “Done!”

“Great,” Oliver said, looking over her shoulder. “Now we can…”

He trailed off.

Luna looked back at him self-consciously. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said.

Luna glared at him. “No, what? Those are perfectly chopped vegetables!”

“Uh-huh,” he said. He scratched his mouth, not quite hiding how it twitched. “Luna. Have you ever chopped a vegetable in your life?”

“Yes,” Luna snapped. She had chopped bell peppers and pickles for charcuterie boards. Cucumber for cucumber water. Fruit for late-night snacks. She was practically an expert in chopping.

“It’s fine,” he said, taking the chopping board. “Everything’s getting blended anyway, so it won’t matter that they’re chunky.”

“They’re fine,” Luna insisted. She moved past him to watch as he slid her vegetables into the pot and then covered them with hot water.

It hissed as it hit the pot, and Luna winced.

But apparently, that was what was supposed to happen because Oliver’s face didn’t change once as he placed the lid on top and turned the burner down.

They cleaned the table as they waited for the pot to finish boiling.

Oliver ate a handful of grated cheese, a cold piece of toast, and a few more handfuls of dry cereal until Luna threatened to pelt him with a cold fried egg.

He ate another handful of cereal, and Luna seriously considered doing it before remembering she’d only agreed to make soup to be nice to the guy, and throwing a cold egg at him might cancel that out.

Cleaning was boring. Cleaning had always been boring, which was why Luna got a cleaner to do it at home.

But Luna couldn’t help feeling a little satisfied when she stood back to see the table clean and shining, no crumbs or bits of egg left from their rushed exit.

The pleasure of a job well done. Like posting a good story on Instagram and watching the likes roll in.

Like Beth texting her that this week’s sales were even better than the previous week’s and it was all because of Luna.

The most she did back home was secretly design a successful logo or throw a baller party.

Cleaning a table and making soup was…small compared to that.

But it felt good to think of the Musgroves coming back and finding a clean kitchen and their favorite comfort food waiting on the stove.

They added stock next. Then cream and cheddar. Then they blended it all with a stick blender that Luna did fine with until the very end when she pulled it out too soon, splattering half-blended broccoli chunks over the stovetop.

“It’s soaking into my shirt,” she complained as Oliver swabbed soup off the stove. She picked a chunk of wet potato off her wet shirt and flicked it into the sink. “Ugh.”

“Don’t waste it,” he told her. He took a spoon and dipped it in the pot, bringing it up to his mouth for a taste.

Luna waited. “Good?”

He nodded, turning the spoon toward her.

Luna bent in. The soup was thick and a little saltier than she would’ve liked, but it was warm, cheesy and cozy.

“It’s nice,” she said quietly. It sounded too earnest, so she cleared her throat and grinned. “Just like home?”

“Just like home,” he said quietly. His dark gaze dropped to her mouth.

Luna’s breath hitched. She kept her smile up. “Do I have soup on me?”

He shook his head and leaned in, dragging his nose down her cheek.

She squirmed. “Cut that out. I smell like soup.”

“No, you don’t,” he said quietly. His hands settled on her hips, pressing her into the counter.

She shivered, tipping her head back so he could nose at her neck. “No? What do I smell like?”

He paused. His mouth was over her pulse point, breath flooding over the fluttering skin.

“Mine,” he murmured.

Then he dragged her in. The bond in Luna’s chest bloomed as their mouths met, her fingers tangling in his hair. His big hands slid under her thighs, and Luna gasped as he heaved her up onto the counter.

“Aren’t you—” She stopped, allowing him one more tantalizing kiss before pulling back. “Aren’t you hungry?”

He nuzzled her neck. Luna shivered as he reached her ear, biting the lobe and tugging.

“Starving,” he promised.