Page 4 of Knottily Ever After (Crescent Lake Cozy Omegaverse #1)

Chapter Four

Violet

T he delicious smells of coffee and all sorts of breakfast foods wake me in the morning.

I’d fallen asleep not long after ending my call with Bec and just burrowed in the thick, soft blankets, never leaving the bed save for one potty break.

I shower, scrub my teeth, dress comfortably in some thin fabric slacks and a sleeveless blouse, apply a little concealer to the splotches on my face and circles under my eyes, then take a deep breath.

Time to meet the roomies!

Given the smell of mouthwatering food invading my room from behind the door, I assume at least one of them is here this morning.

I pull open my door and step through the threshold, smashing my nose against something… hard. And fleshy. That smells better than the breakfast still wafting through the apartment.

With a squeak, I step back, rub my squished nose, and look up into the warmest brown eyes, flecks of green and gold surrounding dilated pupils.

Wet, short, blond hair sits atop a chiseled face, cleanly shaven.

My gaze travels down a wall of huge, defined muscles, mountainous pecs with a light smattering of hair at the center, divots of abs on top of abs on top of more abs along a trim waist, and—holy shit— the V is a real thing.

I’d never seen it in person, always thought it was a myth! But here I stand, staring at those hip lines as they disappear into a pair of black sweatpants. Not gray.

Pity.

The abs twitch as a throat clears, and I whip my eyes up to this man’s smirking face.

“Well, hello, there,” he sings with a deep voice, his perfect smile growing, bright white teeth flashing.

“Um…” I blink at this man… this specimen … and I think my brain just fizzled into mush.

Is this what I’ve been writing about all these years? A man so gorgeous I figured he could never exist?

But here he is, in the flesh.

His grin turns lopsided. “I’m Quinn.”

My head nods, just a little, but words escape me.

“And you must be Violet.”

I blink again, then cough. “Uh, yes. Yes. I am Violet.”

Smooth, Vi. You are definitely showcasing a winning personality right now.

He lets out a raucous laugh, those defined shoulders and pecs bouncing with the sound. But when he looks at me again, there’s something in his dark eyes that makes my heart thump hard, my belly quiver.

“Sorry to introduce myself in this state,” he waves a hand in front of his glorious, naked upper body. “I didn’t expect to run into you before breakfast.”

I swallow the pool of saliva in my mouth. When had I started salivating? “You, uh… live here?”

That devilish grin returns, his eyes sparkling mischievously.

“I do. In fact,” he leans in a little, and I hold my breath, eyes bugging.

“My room is right across from yours. There.” He points to the door across the hall and just to the right.

There’s a little sign on it I hadn’t noticed during my tour, with a hand-painted set of barbells on it.

He leans back before stepping away, his head tilting to the side. “See you at brekkie.” With an exaggerated wink, he disappears through the barbell door.

I stand in my doorway, head spinning and feeling a little like I’m lost in a dream. But when the smell of food catches my attention again, my stomach growls, loud. I step all the way into the hall and close my door behind me, then wander down to the kitchen. Where I see Vaughn. Cooking.

I stop in my tracks just before he spins around, a long, black apron covering his slacks and button-down shirt, Mr. Dimple coming out to say “hello” with his immaculate smile.

“Good morning!”

He is as chipper as he is gorgeous.

I can’t stop the next rush of words out of my mouth. “What are you doing here?”

He pauses at a commercial espresso machine and looks over his shoulder at me. “I live here.”

My jaw drops, eyes bug.

So… I am now living with Mr. V-Cut and Dimple Hottie?

Holy shit. What is my life right now? And honestly, how am I going to survive the month or more I’ll be staying here?

Maybe their hotness will wear off over time…

“Give me all the bacon!”

V-Cut—er, Quinn—enters the kitchen wearing a form-fitting athletic tee and loose running shorts and sits at one of the stools at the granite counter, passing me by with another saucy wink.

Vaughn slides a plate his way that’s stacked with eggs, bacon, sausage, and one lone pancake with sliced strawberries on top.

I drool a little. At the food, not the men.

Okay, maybe a little of both.

I sit at the end of the counter, shell-shocked, and Vaughn slides a caddy toward me with sweeteners before placing a cappuccino in front of me, topped with the perfect amount of froth.

“I heard authors love their coffee,” he says with a lopsided smile.

A laugh bubbles from my chest, and I nod in confirmation. “I especially love cappuccino. You’re going to have to show me how to work that thing so I can help make it.”

“Any time.” He gestures to the back counter where the stovetop and an array of platters are. “We have pancakes, bacon, sausage, and scrambled eggs. What’s your poison?”

“A little of everything, if that’s okay?” I feel my face heat up when I realize both men are staring at me. Was that too piggish?

My gaze drops to my mid-section. I’d never thought of myself as overweight, really, more average in this day and age, but seeing these two gods in all their glory…

“That’s perfect,” Vaughn says at the same time as Quinn says, “You’re perfect.”

I know I didn’t mishear him when I whip my head to look at him. He doesn’t turn away, doesn’t hide that he’s staring at me with those intense chocolate eyes.

I’m perfect? Coming from someone so fit and handsome, it’s difficult to believe, but he isn’t backing down. Maybe he likes girls with a little extra oomph.

Vaughn places a plate in front of me with a little of everything, just as I asked. Then he places down small bowls of berries, whipped cream, and butter, then a small glass bottle of maple syrup.

“If you want any more, just ask. I’m happy to serve.” His smile makes my heart flutter, those gray eyes holding my gaze for longer than necessary. But I like it. A lot.

“Thank you,” I say, ensuring my appreciation is apparent in my tone.

Vaughn makes his own plate and pulls the third stool from our side of the counter to the other side, and sits across from us. Keeping his apron on, he methodically separates all the food items on his plate with his fork before taking some berries and cream and syrup and slathering the entire meal.

I bite my lip to stifle a giggle when he dives into the food like a ravenous beast, giving a little groan that makes my ears twitch in response, my thighs clench unconsciously.

When I cut into the pancakes with my fork, I’m aware of Quinn’s eyes on me again. I use all of my self-control not to look at him when I place the fluffy cake into my mouth and chew.

They’re delicious, and my eyes close as the sweet, buttery flavor invades all my senses. On a moan, I say, “Vaughn, this is so good.”

Vaughn is frozen, fork inches from his mouth, and Quinn silently shuffles in his seat beside me.

Too much praise?

Vaughn clears his throat and gives me a small smile, and says, “I’m glad you like the food,” before returning to his breakfast, a little less ravenous.

The rest of our meal is pretty quiet, just the clinking of cutlery on plates and occasional sipping of beverages. And once we’re all done, Vaughn begins packing the leftovers into containers and putting them in the fridge.

Quinn brings his plate and silverware to the dishwasher before declaring, “I’m off to work. See you tonight.”

“I’m cooking a special meal to celebrate Violet’s arrival. Don’t be late for dinner.”

I straighten in my seat and turn wide eyes on Vaughn.

“I won’t be late.” Quinn chuckles and sends me a salute before turning for the hallway.

“Vaughn,” I say, “you don’t have to do that.”

“I know,” he tells me, those gray eyes kind and warm. “I want to. Will you let me do this for you?”

I am at a loss for what to say, so I give a vigorous nod, eyelids fluttering.

“Good g—” he cuts himself off and clears his throat. “Good,” he says with more conviction. “I’m glad.”

“Let me help you clean!” I shout a bit too loudly as I hop off the stool with my plate.

With the two of us, it takes no time at all to clear the plates, and while I start the dishwasher, Vaughn wipes down the counters. It feels natural and comfortable, something I’ve never experienced, not since my parents died.

Whenever I’d eat with Steve at one of our places, it was just expected that I’d clean everything while he went and tended to work or watched TV.

Vaughn removes his apron, which looks nearly spotless, and hangs it on a hook inside the pantry door before turning back to me. “I’m going to be in the bar during the day shift today. If you need anything, just come downstairs.” He grins. “Or you can visit me. I wouldn’t mind.”

I smile back at him, feeling like a schoolgirl.

“Oh,” he says, stopping just outside the kitchen. “I hope you like Italian food.”

I smile even bigger now. “I’m half Italian, so you bet your butt I do.”

He laughs. “Me, too. And good to know. I’ll be making an Italian feast tonight for us all, so save room to stuff yourself later.”

He waves at me with that dimple-smile before exiting the apartment for the bar downstairs.

When the door closes behind him, I feel more alone than I have in a long time.