“Sardines on ice cream?” Raph made a face. “Are we back to gross food?”
“We’ve eaten worse in the past,” Wyatt said. “Remember the time Mom brought home fig preserves and tuna? And I mixed them up with condensed milk.”
“Gods, Wyatt. You ate that? I thought you threw it away!”
“No, I ate it. You can’t know what something tastes like unless you try it.” Wyatt grinned, setting the bag on the kitchen counter. Raph grimaced, caught him by the waist, and pulled him close.
“I’m not kissing you if you taste like ice cream and sardines,” Raph murmured against his lips.
Wyatt grinned, tilting his head so their mouths meshed sweetly together. Raph’s tongue tangled with his, soft and damp. In that moment, Wyatt thought about Raph, and only him. And Raph brushed his wrist along Wyatt’s neck, marking Wyatt with his own scent. Wyatt’s heart skipped. Raph wants me.
“What if I taste only like ice cream?” he whispered.
“That’s fine.” Raph kissed him again. “But don’t throw sardines in there, eat them, and then kiss me.”
Wyatt chuckled, easing away from his alpha. In the warm August evening, the ice cream had softened. He scooped some into a bowl, popping a spoonful of sweet, minty ice cream into his mouth. “Mm. This is good.”
“Yeah?” Raph poured himself a shot of wine—one of the bottles of port that Wyatt had opened months ago, but hadn’t a chance to drink.
When he returned to Wyatt’s side, Wyatt slid his hands into Raph’s hair, pulling him close.
“You’re only after the wine,” Raph murmured against his lips.
“Just tasting.” He slipped into Raph’s mouth, finding traces of mellow port between his lip and teeth. Then he explored deeper, licking at Raph’s tongue, trying to find the elusive hints of liquor.
Raph growled, pushing past Wyatt’s lips. And Wyatt sucked the fruity, tart notes off his tongue.
“Best way to taste wine,” Wyatt said. “Short of drinking it myself.”
Raph chuckled. When he pulled away from Wyatt, he nodded at the melting ice cream. “You’re gonna eat sardines with that? Seriously?”
“When do I ever kid?”
Raph grinned. Wyatt popped the lid of the tin, peeling it back.
Inside, the fillets were packed in olive oil, their dark skins glistening under the kitchen lamp. Wyatt picked a fillet out, pushed it into his bowl of ice cream, and mashed the fish up. His stomach squeezed; he’d been waiting for this all day. “Gods, this looks so good.”
“The next time you say I look good, remind me that I share the honor with mashed sardines and ice cream.”
Wyatt laughed. “I’ll eat you too. Just saying.”
Raph rolled his eyes. “Hopefully not at the same time.”
“Can you imagine? If I set tasteful dollops of fish and ice cream on your chest, and ate it off?”
“Sick bastard.” But Raph grinned, and Wyatt popped the lumpy mixture into his mouth. Raph winced. “How is it?”
Wyatt chewed, rolling the oozing cream over his tongue. “The fillets are salty, but paired with the fruitiness of the olive oil, it complements the sweetness of the ice cream. And whereas the ice cream oozes, the fillets flake off—the mouth-feel is great. All it’s missing is a bit of crunch. I should’ve added some chips in here. 9 out of 10.”
Raph rolled his eyes. “That’s the sort of bullshit they say on the cooking shows.”
“Those are respected judges, okay.” Wyatt grinned, picked up the sardine tin, and drizzled some oil into his bowl. Then he scooped the mixture into his spoon, and extended it to Raph. “Want some?”
Raph gave the mint-green glob a disgusted stare. “Hell, no.”
Wyatt popped it into his own mouth, purring. It really did taste good. Raph was missing out.
Instead of commenting on the ice cream, Raph stepped over to Wyatt’s back, sliding his arms around Wyatt’s hips. Then he rested his palm against Wyatt’s belly, where there was a baby bump, now.
“I’ve missed you all week.” Raph murmured in his ear. “How’s the baby?”
“Good.” Wyatt snuggled into his chest. “I can’t believe it’s been almost twelve weeks.”
Raph peeled up Wyatt’s shirt to expose his belly. Then he ran his wrist over Wyatt’s skin, marking their baby, too. Wyatt’s face warmed.
Sometimes, it felt surreal, carrying Raph’s baby. It felt as though the heavens would strike him down, or the patrons at the drive-in would stare. But no one did.
As he leaned into Raph’s embrace, Wyatt thought that maybe... all of this was too good to last.
19
Raph
Hazel colored the leaves on the calendar, her lips pursed in concentration. Across the booth, Raph leaned back. “Your dad ever told you what he thinks of me?”
She paused in her coloring, glancing up. “He said you’re too nice.”
Raph snorted. “I’m too nice?”
She nodded. “Yeah. Kind of like Uncle Sam and Aunt Penny. Where’s Aunt Penny? I haven’t seen her in ages. She said she’d make me a cheesy toast.”
Two months had passed since Raph told his mom the news. They’d missed the charity audition; neither Wyatt nor Raph had heard from Penny, and Raph didn’t want to put Wyatt in front of the cameras. Not with his belly growing ever bigger, and no alpha to publicly claim him.
The Friday night drive-in crowd was always loud. Raph craned his neck, looking up over the polished lattice dividers. On the other side of the diner, Wyatt took orders at a table, while his waitresses skated out with full trays of food. Mina had grown more confident in her time here, and the drive-in ran smoothly.
Raph was proud of his omega, happy that the restaurant could run itself with minimal help from Wyatt. In the near future, Wyatt would be busy with their baby; these were all good signs.
Except Raph still hadn’t made the decision to move back to Meadowfall. He would have to, when the baby was born. And that involved the rest of their family finding out. He swallowed his unease, focusing on his bondmate instead.
Wyatt strode across the
