Page 20 of Knottily Ever After (Crescent Lake Cozy Omegaverse #1)

Chapter Twenty

Vaughn

T here is only one person in this world right now who I would get up at three in the morning for.

Violet Marshall.

That’s why I am waiting in the hallway outside Quinn’s bedroom door like some stalker ready to pounce. When that door finally opens, he jumps back at the sight of me.

“ Holy shit,” he shouts as I shush him and wave him into the kitchen.

He still looks shaken at the counter when I place my hands on it and lean in close, keeping my voice down. “You need to back the fuck off.”

Quinn blinks like he can’t register what I’ve said. “What are you talking about?”

“ You upset Violet with your invasive questions.”

Realization washes over him, and his body slumps a bit. “Yeah,” he says on a sigh. “I know I was too hard on her, acting a little over the top.” He looks back at me. “I really don’t know why, man. I got mad out of nowhere.” His frown deepens. “Did she tell you?”

I shake my head, no. “She told Ben last night, and he texted me.”

Quinn is sighing again when his hand rubs down his face. “I won’t bring it up to her again. I swear.”

“ Good.” I stand up straight. “We all know what she is to us, even if she doesn’t. We can’t risk her deciding to leave because we act in some way that freaks her out.”

“ I didn’t mean to upset her, you know?” His tone is a bit pleading. “I just wanted answers. I wanted to raise questions in her mind, too, about what the meds are doing to her. Maybe get her to come to her own conclusions.”

“ I know.” I sigh a little. “But it’s too soon. She hasn’t been out of her environment long enough. We need to make sure she’s comfortable with us. Wants to be with us.”

Quinn looks somber, head shaking a bit as a little war of emotions flashed across his face.

“ Look, I’m going to go back to bed,” I tell him. “I’m making a big dinner tonight for all of us, so don’t be late.”

“ I’ll be here,” he says thoughtfully. “And I’ll come bearing pastries.”

I nod approvingly. He’s catching on.

“ Will you hand me the whisk?”

At some point during the time I began setting everything out to prepare to cook dinner, Violet had emerged from her room where she’d been working, and kind of took over.

I didn’t mind being her sous chef one bit.

This woman knows how to cook, and I am in absolute awe of her technique making Alfredo sauce for our penne pasta with sauteed shrimp and spinach.

“ It’s all about order and timing,” she had told me as she melted butter in the pot before adding a copious amount of pressed garlic, then cubes of softened cream cheese.

Once I handed her the requested whisk, she slowly mixed in the heavy cream and milk she’d measured and let everything simmer.

Her smile is contagious when she turns back to me.

“A lot of people will just dump in the cheese at this point and wait for it to melt in the cream, but that is a big no-no,” she wags her finger at me.

“ I feel like I should be filming this,” I muse.

She laughs and checks on her cream base which already smells mouthwatering.

“So, the trick is to have everything measured and ready to go before you start. And when your cream mixture begins to simmer, you turn the heat almost all the way down,” she does what she says, “and then very, very slowly, add in the grated cheese while whisking.”

Violet has cups of grated cheese at the ready, and starts sprinkling it in, about a tablespoon at a time, all while whisking like some master chef.

I’m surprised her arm isn’t cramping.

“ It’s a two-to-one ratio of Parmesan and Romano cheeses,” she tells me, never looking up from the simmering pot. “Super important to get the ratio right.”

I cannot help myself. “How do you know all of this?”

“ My mom’s side of the family was from Italy.” She smiles, like lost in a memory. “My grandmother and great-aunt taught me a lot about cooking and baking, ever since I was a little kid. Some of my best memories.”

I smile in understanding and camaraderie. “My story is very similar. My dad’s mom and her family were from Italy, too. We would spend every Sunday together at Nonna’s, the whole pack.”

Violet’s eyes whip up to me, a smile and a sigh on her lips before she goes back to watching her creation like a hawk.

“My grandma didn’t want us to speak Italian.

” She laughs. “She would say, ‘Our family didn’t travel all the way here not to adopt the local customs.’” She says it with a pretty good Italian accent, and her head shakes as she switches to another measuring cup of cheese.

“I’m glad she and her sister taught me all their culinary prowess, but I feel like I missed out on so much by not learning Italian. ”

“Ti insegnerò.”

Violet almost drops her whisk before she’s gaping at me. “You… you speak Italian?”

The pure awe and almost longing expression on her face renders me speechless, and I give an affirmative nod in response.

Before she returns to her sauce, a heated look fills her eyes as she regards me, her scent spikes in the air, and my dick stirs in my jeans.

Never before had I ever been so thankful to have learned a language I hardly ever used.

Violet may not have understood me, but I told her I’d teach her.

Any excuse to spend more time with my Omega.

Grazie, Nonna.