Page 17 of The Reluctant Mate (Shifters of the Three Rivers #5)

Chapter seventeen

Sofia

T he first thing I registered was the sound of something clattering—not in a threatening, someone’s-breaking-in way, but the distinctly less menacing someone’s-fighting-with-pots-and-pans way. For a split second, I forgot where I was, my brain tangled in the usual fog of sleep. Then it hit me: the cabin, Derek, his nightmare, us falling asleep together on the sofa.

Derek had slept peacefully the rest of the night. I’d woken a few times, watching him sleep through bleary eyes. He looked… softer asleep. His features were more relaxed than I could ever remember seeing them, the hard lines of his jaw and brow smoothed out. I’d let myself melt into his warmth, let myself forget all the reasons why this wasn’t okay. Why Derek wasn’t safe for my heart.

I groaned, dragging the blanket over my head. I’d called a temporary truce with Derek and wasn’t sure I had the energy yet to go back to hating him. Maybe after food.

There it was again—the scrape of metal on metal, followed by a muttered curse I couldn’t quite make out. Derek Shaw, Mr. Brooding, was apparently trying to cook.

The smell of something… charred wafted to my nose.

What the hell was he doing?

Whatever the answer, it wasn’t good.

The wild howling of the storm still rattled through the cabin walls, but at least the power seemed to be back on. I stayed bundled on the couch for a moment longer, then with a resigned sigh, I tossed the blanket off and padded toward the kitchen, still in the vest and panties I’d slept in.

The smell hit me harder when I got closer—something between burned toast and eggs that had suffered too long in a pan. The back of my throat tightened.

Derek was topless, because why not cook topless, and held a spatula in one hand, his other braced on his hip in that stubborn stance that screamed “I know what I’m doing”—and probably meant the opposite. He was peering into the frying pan in front of him as if it was a ticking time bomb that he wasn’t entirely sure how to defuse.

I leaned against the doorframe, crossing my arms as I watched. He shifted a pan just slightly, tilting it at an angle. Smoke rose faintly. My wolf wrinkled her nose.

“You know, you should just admit defeat and let the stove win.”

My words were meant to be teasing, and they came out steady, but my brain? My brain had gone completely off-script. Because—sweet Goddess—Derek was built.

I knew that already, obviously. It wasn’t exactly a secret. But there was knowing, and then there was seeing .

His back was a marvel of sculpted muscle, each ripple shifting under his skin as he moved. His arms—Goddess help me—were thick with power, veins subtly raised along his forearms as he gripped the spatula like he was preparing for battle. And his abs? Yeah, I’d like to say I wasn’t staring, but that would be a total lie. Rock-hard, perfectly defined, with just the right amount of that deep V leading down into his low-slung sweatpants.

Focus, Sofia. You are mad at him. You are mad at him. You are—

“Are you just gonna stand there gawking, or are you gonna help?”

I snapped my gaze up so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash. Derek had turned to face me now, his stupidly handsome face smug as hell, like he knew exactly what I’d been thinking.

“I was not gawking,” I shot back, lifting my chin.

His smirk deepened, the bastard, as his eyes trailed over my body. Something passed over his face, some emotion I couldn’t place, there and then gone in a blink. The spatula in his hand lifted slightly, and he gestured gracefully at whatever sad mess was sizzling in the cast iron pan on the stove. “You hungry?”

I arched an eyebrow, stepping closer until I could see the damage. Charred edges lined three what-could-maybe-pass-as-pancake blobs.

“Oh, I don’t think I’m that hungry.”

“I can cook, you know,” he said defensively, lifting the spatula higher like it was a badge of honor he’d earned along with his military stripes.

“Boiling water doesn’t count.”

“I can do more than just boil water,” he grumbled, clearly offended.

I leaned in deliberately, peeling one of the ruined pancakes off the edge of the pan. The thing had the consistency of cardboard. Scraping it off made a sound no food should ever make.

“I can cook,” he repeated stubbornly.

I stepped closer to the stove again, inspecting the damage for any sign that something might be salvageable. My wolf grumbled, unimpressed.

“Move,” I said with a sigh, waving him aside.

Derek’s brows lifted, but he didn’t budge. “What are you doing?”

“Saving breakfast.” I pushed past him to grab the mixing bowl on the counter.

“I had it under control.”

I snorted as I cracked more eggs into the bowl, deciding omelets were the safer bet.

He stared at me for a moment, then grabbed a knife from the counter and stepped to the other side of the kitchen, where he started chopping vegetables more efficiently than I expected.

“You’ve gotten better at that,” I said lightly, the remark slipping out without thinking. I remembered the mangled chunks of carrots he used to chop for the meals his brothers used to make back when the Shaw brothers, Jem, and Mai would all eat together after their parents died. I’d go over sometimes to see Mai, when I was sure my parents wouldn’t catch me.

Derek didn’t look up, but something shifted in his shoulders, his movements slowing slightly. “Military training,” he replied simply.

I tilted my head, genuinely curious for the first time since waking up. “They teach soldiers how to cook?”

He paused just long enough to shoot me a faint, mock-serious grin. “They taught knife skills, not pancake flipping. Big difference.”

I laughed softly, despite myself—the sound surprising me as much as it seemed to surprise him.

“Put the veg over there. I’ll cook it in a minute.”

“You’re surprisingly bossy in a kitchen. I like it.”

I snorted at that, flipping the pancake with an intentionally theatrical gesture. “Somebody has to take charge, or we’d be eating your burned excuses for food.”

He shrugged, leaning against the counter with the knife still in hand. “I delegated. That’s teamwork.”

I turned slightly, leveling him with a look. “Oh, is that what we’re calling it? Letting me clean up your messes is ‘delegating’ now?”

A faint glint of amusement sparked in his eyes, but he didn’t answer, just popped a piece of bell pepper into his mouth.

I pointed toward the bowl of grated cheese he must have prepared earlier. “Make yourself useful and sprinkle that in the eggs.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You’ve also gotten better at taking orders.” I glanced sideways at him. “Teenage Derek never would’ve listened to me in a kitchen.”

“Teenage Derek had other priorities.”

“Like causing chaos with Sam?”

He smiled. It was a soft, almost sad smile, and for some reason, it made my heart ache.

“I missed this, you know? Missed you,” he said.

I froze. For a moment, the only sound was the crackle of the fire and the muffled howling of the storm outside.

Then I forced myself to meet his gaze. “Then why did you leave me?”

He blinked. “Leave you?”

“You know what I mean,” I said, my tone sharp. “You left me to join the military. And when you came back, we had that stupid, perfect date; then you acted like it never even happened.”

“Sofia, the military… I didn’t leave you . I went. I went to do something important—for the Pack. For you. I went to learn the skills I need, so I could protect you.”

“Bullshit. You left, just like everyone leaves.”

He frowned at me. “Everyone who?”

“My parents. My best friend!” The words tumbled out before I could stop them. “And you? You even managed to do it twice. Twice! What the hell is so wrong with me? Am I really that unlovable?”