“There you go,” Valen whispered, his breath hot on their cheeks. He bit Harris’ chin, kissed Sam’s jaw, then shoved his hand between Harris’ legs.
The first car rumbled behind them.
Harris groaned and broke the kiss. “Enough.”
Even though he wanted more, wanted Sam and Valen for himself. He clicked off his seatbelt, smiling when Valen opened the passenger door and helped Sam out.
They unlocked the front door of the drive-in, slipped into the kitchen. Turned on the lights and stoves, washed their hands.
Harris had expected Valen to get serious in a heartbeat, but to witness the humor fade from Sam’s eyes, replaced by resolve—that was sexy, too.
They’d been preparing a month for the reception. They could do this.
Harris pulled the tray of tofu from the fridge, grabbed the tub of soy sauce, and a ladle. Sam stirred the pot of broth, and Valen fired up the griddle.
Outside the kitchen, guests were starting to filter into the restaurant.
There were two parts to Wy’s Drive-In. Patrons could choose to park and eat from trays clipped to their car doors, or step inside for a dine-in experience. Over the polished oak counter, the kitchen overlooked the rest of the restaurant. The hardwood floors gleamed, and pots of bamboo led the guests from the front doors into the diner.
Earlier today, Wyatt had come in with Raph to arrange the free-standing tables, so they now had a long dining table in the middle of the restaurant. Wyatt and Raph arrived at the drive-in soon after the ceremony, sitting with their children at the head of the table.
Ten minutes into the prep, Wyatt’s daughter stepped up to the counter. She was fourteen, alpha, her long blond hair woven into a braid. “Need help, Uncle Sam?”
“Sure,” Sam said. “Will you get the drink orders?”
Hazel brightened. “Can I do that with my skates?”
“Sure!”
Over his plates of tofu, Harris watched as Hazel pulled on an egg-yellow apron, and slipped her feet into a pair of skates. Then she skated out of the kitchen with a pen and notepad, stopping by her parents first.
Sam followed Harris’ gaze. “Hazel’s great. I helped Wy raise her.”
“Did you?”
“Yeah, I knew Wy from before she was born.”
How much time had Sam spent, raising Hazel, wishing for his own baby? That had to have hurt. And yet Harris had never seen Sam complain about babies, or children, or his own pregnancy.
Harris ladled soy sauce over the tofu, then heaped dried fish shavings on top of each cube, until they resembled little houses with spire roofs. He set the tray aside when all the cubes were done, taking a second to admire them.
When Hazel returned with the drink orders, Harris helped fill them. Then they served the drinks, and followed up with plates of tofu.
Valen had the dishes of salmon on the counter by the time Harris returned. They served those, too, then returned to the kitchen, lining up soup bowls for the noodles.
Sam dropped the cooked noodles into the bowls, while Hazel and Harris added the truffle oil, sheets of roasted kelp, and juicy slices of pork. Sam sprinkled each bowl with rings of green onion, then they served the noodle bowls one at a time. Valen stayed behind in the kitchen to tend to the dumplings.
“You’re doing great, kid,” Harris said on their return trip to the kitchen.
Hazel grinned. “I’m working here full-time when I grow up.”
Solid dreams for someone so young—at that age, Harris been undecided on his future, skateboarding along the bumpy sidewalks reciting lines from stand-up comedians.
When the noodles had been served, Valen plated the last of the dumplings, then punched the air. “We did it!”
The four of them served the last of the plates, and Hazel rejoined her family.
In the span of half an hour, they’d gotten all the courses to the guests, save for the cake. Their portions were at the end of the table, untouched.
Harris had never served his cooking to strangers before. It was an odd feeling, watching them dig into noodles and dumplings without getting sick.
After Nicholas had died, he hadn’t bothered much with food. When he’d eaten, it had been frozen food from cardboard boxes, or none at all. Hadn’t broken that habit when he’d gotten together with Valen.
Now? He’d learned to set aside his grief, and do what he’d relied on Nicholas for.
As they washed their hands and pulled off their aprons, Sam grinned at them both. “Success?”
“We’ll have to serve the cake first,” Harris said. “It’s not a success yet.”
Valen rolled his eyes, but he caught Harris and Sam’s hands, pulling them both back out into the dining area.
“The real heroes of today,” Wyatt said when they stepped up to the table. “Thank you, Sam, Valen, and Harris. Hazel, too. Today couldn’t have happened without you.”
Then he made to stand, and Sam squawked. “Sit down, Wy—it’s your wedding! All we did was cook!”
“It was months of work,” Raph said, giving them a nod. “Thanks.”
Raph helped Wyatt to his feet, and as Harris watched, the rest of the table stood, too, clapping for them.
Made Harris’ heart swell a little. It wasn’t his wedding. But Valen was holding his hand, and Sam’s, and everyone was smiling.
Valen squeezed Harris’ hand. Then he leaned in, kissed Harris on the lips, and Harris’ stomach dropped.
“Valen,” he hissed.
“This is my alpha,” Valen said. “And this is my omega.” He leaned toward Sam and kissed him, too. “We’re getting married in a couple of months.”
A couple of cheers rang out, and people clapped. Harris stared.
“Oh,” Wyatt said, breaking into a smile. Then he took the bouquet by his side, tossing it at Sam. “There. I was saving it for you, Sam. Congrats.”
Sam reached out with a yelp, fumbling with the bouquet with his free hand. He ended up wedging it against his chest, his entire face red.
Guess everyone here knows we’re involved.
Harris fought down the mix of pride and worry, nodding at the empty seats. “The food’s gonna get cold,” he said.
“That’s how Harris is when he’s shy,” Valen told the
