Total pages in book: 254
Estimated words: 240032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1200(@200wpm)___ 960(@250wpm)___ 800(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 240032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1200(@200wpm)___ 960(@250wpm)___ 800(@300wpm)
Henri nodded before turning and pulling two textured silicone mats out of a drawer. Then my mouth dropped open as he pulled container after container out of the fridge, along with a short can. The man who had drawn my face to his neck hours ago spread out small, spotted eggs with the shell, a variety of thawed meats, and then sardines from the can on the mats, pushing the food into the grooves with the bottom of a fork. I had to lean over the side of the counter again to see that Duncan and Agnes had made their way over and were sitting at his feet, eager expressions on both their puppy faces.
And here Duncan had been growling at him a few hours ago. I had to hold back a laugh.
“Is this fine for breakfast?” Henri asked with his back still to us as Franklin handed me a glass of juice.
“Perfect,” I told him, a lot breathier than normal, mostly in pleasure and surprise at what he was feeding them. It was almost an exact replica of what I gave Duncan for breakfast. It made my chest feel a little funny.
“Is there a problem?” Franklin asked as he took the seat beside me.
“No.” Which was the truth, but honesty was the best policy. “It’s just that I’ve been worried I’m not feeding him what he biologically needs. I feel a lot better now seeing that what I’ve been giving him isn’t that different from what you all think it should be.” Not that they even knew for a fact what he needed exactly, but I trusted them more than myself. I had just been going off what a nutritionist recommended for his weight.
The older man patted my back kind of awkwardly, or maybe reluctantly. I wasn’t sure how old Franklin might have been. He could’ve been an older-looking fifty or anywhere up to eighty. His glasses gave him a grandpa vibe, but there was something else about him that just didn’t come across very elderly to me.
Or maybe I was being distrustful because of that bracelet under his sleeve.
“He’s in good health. You’ve done a fine job with him, Nina. He’s happy and healthy, and your bond seems strong. All those things matter. You can feed a child a healthy diet, but if it’s in an atmosphere without love and safety, that can be just as harmful to them as poor dietary choices.”
“Thank you.” I smiled at him, thinking his words over and seeing the truth in them.
He nodded, peering into my eyes carefully like he was looking for something. With a smile I thought was a little stiff, he dropped his hand. “I have existing commitments after breakfast, but we’ll discuss the pup soon,” he offered. “I’m going to begin looking into the matter of his possible heritage and get back to you once I have any information.”
I wondered. Oh, did I freaking wonder. But we had waited this long for an answer. What was a little more time? “Thank you, Franklin,” I said just as a plate was set down in front of him.
“I don’t know what you eat, so serve yourself,” Henri’s husky voice explained as he met my gaze briefly before heading back to the range.
Had his eyes gotten prettier or was I imagining it? “Thank you.”
“The calendar to sign up for meals is through there.” Henri pointed toward the regular-looking door in the far corner of the huge kitchen beside what I was sure was a walk-in fridge.
Someone had overheard our conversation.
“I’ll check it out,” I said as I got up and headed to where he was busy piling food onto a cream-colored plate with flowers painted on it that were almost identical to the vintage ones my parents used to have. Duncan spared me a quick glance before his attention went right back to the counter where his breakfast was waiting.
I was going to need to get used to it not just being us from here on out. Every morning was going to be like this if we were going to be living in this building for at least a few months. Who knew how things would change after that? I couldn’t be sad about it, about sharing him, about mourning the life we’d had, going to new places, eating breakfast braless, doing whatever we wanted around my work schedule.
Nothing ever stayed the same, and he needed to be safe.
We would start a new routine here. Build new habits. Make a different life.
More than anything, I needed to set a good example. He didn’t need to sense my grief over our previous life and be confused over it. How could I expect him to move forward if I couldn’t?
I picked up a plate from the stack and waited until Henri had moved aside to get my own servings, resignation and determination steeling my body and brain. Laid out like a buffet were the cheesy omelets he’d mentioned, along with bacon, some kind of hamburger patties, and a pot of what I was pretty sure were grits. That part was a surprise because every werewolf I’d ever known rarely ate anything other than meat, fish, and high-fat foods like avocados, butter, and small amounts of cheese. Fruit was tolerable—fruit juices were always welcome. Complex carbs like pasta or bread were rarely eaten. Maybe they’d tackle a plain potato or a couple fries.