Chapter 8
1814 Words
Chapter 8
The midday sun beat down on the pavement as they left the high-end city market. Carter pushed the large cart, which now sagged noticeably under the weight of Allie’s careful haul—hefty, protein-packed meats, the valuable ginger ale, and the generous amount of junk food. The air was thick with the faint, refreshing smell of fresh produce and city grit.
“I feel like we just survived a financial transaction that qualifies as a small-scale invasion,” Carter commented, maneuvering the cart toward their car, his large frame entirely dwarfed by the towering bags.
Allie linked her arm back through Sarah's, a gesture both possessive and comforting. “Nonsense, that was an investment—an investment in the future well-being of my favorite people. You can’t put a price on proper prenatal nutrition, Carter. Or, for that matter, on my cousin’s deep-seated need for salt-and-vinegar chips.” She playfully squeezed Sarah’s arm.
Sarah laughed, a genuine, hearty sound that made Carter pause his efforts and simply watch her for a moment. Her cheeks were rosy, and her eyes sparkled with carefree energy he loved to see. The demanding pace of being a receptionist at Dorian’s busy company, along with the shock of pregnancy and the drama with her ex and family, had created lines of fatigue around her eyes. Today, those lines were softening. She was completely relaxed, enjoying a spontaneous break from routine, and it was a joy to see.
The moment he secured the groceries in the trunk, the wind shifted, carrying a blast of the most tempting scent imaginable: woodsmoke, yeast, and the sharp tang of aged cheese. It felt like a primal call.
“Oh my God, Grimaldi's,” Sarah breathed, her hand instinctively flying to her stomach in a gesture of longing. “I’ve been craving their white sauce cheese pizza for a week. It’s been haunting my dreams, Carter.”
Allie, already halfway across the crosswalk, didn't hesitate. “Consider it a maternal imperative. Carter, abandon your trunk-organizing OCD for five minutes. We feast first.” She looked back at him, her expression a mix of playful impatience and genuine command. “No one gets between a pregnant woman and a legitimate food craving. That’s Rule Number One.” Carter laughed, put away the rest of the groceries, and drove them across the street to Grimaldi’s.
The interior of Grimaldi's was a warm, noisy symphony of conversation, the clatter of utensils, and the soothing crackle of the brick oven. They settled into a large booth near the back, the red leather worn smooth by years of happy customers.
Sarah sank into the seat with a relieved sigh, feeling the day’s fatigue suddenly lift. She carefully ordered a small white cheese pizza with a small white sauce, speaking softly and reverently, as if making a sacred vow.
Allie, after a lively but brief debate with the waiter about the freshness of the basil, chose a medium Margherita, as the simple combination of tomato, mozzarella, and basil is her personal gold standard. However, she disgraced the pizza by asking for an ungodly amount of jalapenos to be added on top.
Carter, however, looked up from the menu with a predatory gleam in his eyes. “I’ll take the large meat lovers. Oh, and can you add extra-extra cheese?” he stated simply, handing the menu back to the server. Sarah blinked.
“A whole large? For yourself?”
It’s been a physically demanding morning, love. I had to manage your huge cart and dodge crowds at the grocery store. I need to restock my supplies. He reached across the table and took her hand, his thumb gently stroking her knuckles. “Don’t worry, though. I’m going to share with you like I always do.” Sarah smiled and nodded her head. Allie playfully gagged from across the booth.
When the three pizzas arrived, the huge difference in size was quite funny. Sarah’s small pie was delicate and fragrant. Allie’s medium looked decent. Carter’s large was a massive, shiny landscape of pepperoni, sausage, ham, bacon, and an illegal amount of mozzarella cheese. He carefully found a small piece to give to Sarah, while Allie also gave her a small slice of hers. Sarah gave each of them a slice of her white pizza, and they dug in.
Sarah started on her pie, savoring the rich, garlicky creaminess of the white sauce, but her attention kept drifting. She watched in stunned fascination as Carter and Allie went to work. They didn't eat; they consumed. They attacked their pizzas with fierce, focused efficiency that spoke to a primal, effortless metabolism.
A slice, gone. A drink of water, gone. Another slice, folded and devoured in two bites.
“I’m sorry,” Sarah finally interrupted, her voice a mix of amusement and genuine disbelief. “But are you two secretly a pair of competing professional eaters? You just consumed the equivalent of a small European country’s caloric intake in under five minutes.”
“Not human, remember?” Allie whispered and pointed between herself and Carter.
“Ah, right. I forgot.”
Carter just grinned, finishing the last slice of his massive meat-and-cheese creation with a satisfied sigh. He leaned back in the booth, looking completely unfazed. “That, and I need to stay strong so I can carry all the pungent kimchi and defend your fragile pregnant sensibilities.” He gave Sarah a sweet, goofy look that totally undermined his attempted swagger.
Sarah laughed again, a sound that reflected the joyful fullness in her stomach. She often forgot that her cousin and boyfriend/mate, both of whom move through life with such striking intensity and effortless skill, weren't human.
Sated but definitely not defeated, Allie tossed a wad of cash onto the table. “Dessert is mandatory. And it’s on me. The calories don’t count if I pay for them.”
They drove two blocks to a well-known local French bakery, its windows showcasing a sparkling display of delicate pastries and colorful cakes. The atmosphere was quiet and elegant, sharply contrasting with the lively pizzeria.
Sarah’s eyes went wide as she entered. She immediately gravitated toward a glass case displaying a tower of colorful macarons. The delicate, crunchy shells and creamy centers were her ultimate weakness.
“Oh, look at these,” she murmured, treating the selection with solemn reverence. “I need the pistachio, the salted caramel, and the raspberry. Maybe two of each.” She was utterly absorbed in the tiny, perfect details.
Carter, meanwhile, skipped the small, fancy treats entirely. Like always, he preferred the straightforward. He ordered a giant, towering slice of strawberry cream cake—a symbol of simple, extravagant indulgence. Allie chose a dense, reasonably-sized wedge of chocolate lover's cake, which looked rich enough to power a small engine.
They ate their desserts while standing on the sidewalk, enjoying the cool autumn air and the sugar rush. Sarah’s cheeks were coated with powdered sugar, and her face showed pure, unfiltered happiness. For her, the day felt completely perfect—a rare, carefree moment shared with the two people she loved most, celebrating the future without a single professional or domestic worry hanging over them.
Allie watched them both—Carter, large and happy with his towering cake, and Sarah, delicate and glowing over her tiny macarons. She felt a surge of deep contentment. This was her role: the supportive protector, the one who stepped in to make sure her family was cared for.
The drive back to the pack territory was quiet, with the three of them caught in a peaceful, post-indulgence fog. Once they arrived, the sense of domestic chaos quickly took over. Carter efficiently carried the groceries inside and began putting away the non-perishables. Allie rubbed her hands together and got ready to take over their kitchen.
“Okay, you two. Relax. My job here isn’t done yet,” she commanded, waving a wooden spoon to shoo them out of the kitchen. “I need space. You did all the shopping; now let the professional food-prep specialist take over.”
Carter readily obeyed, guiding a completely exhausted Sarah to the living room. They sank onto the couch, the faint sounds of Allie working in the background creating a calming atmosphere.
For the next two hours, the townhouse was filled with the rhythmic sounds of chopping, the sharp, lively sizzle of meat hitting a hot pan, and the warm, comforting aromas of garlic, rosemary, and slow-cooked meat. She even went out of her way to make potted steamed rice for Sarah.
Allie worked quickly, transforming the raw ingredients they had bought into several large portions of protein and vegetable dishes, all carefully packed into labeled containers. She was preparing a week’s worth of healthy, easily reheated meals—an understated, practical act of deep love.
When she finally emerged, wiping her hands on the apron, the kitchen was spotless and the air smelled utterly divine—proof of her caring, protective nature.
“Da haessda! (All done!) Alright, guys, the freezer is stocked and the fridge is organized. That should last you about seven to ten days, as long as Carter doesn’t try to eat two full meals a day out of the same container,” she announced, untying the apron.
She went to the couch, leaning over to give Sarah a fierce hug. “It was a perfect day, cuz. But now you need to sleep. Call me if Carter even looks at a slice of processed lunch meat, or if he tries to feed you another solitary sandwich.”
Allie kissed Carter on the cheek — a rare, tender gesture — and the door clicked shut behind her.
A deep silence settled, broken only by the soft hum of the refrigerator. The stress and tension that had been hanging around Sarah’s shoulders for weeks finally eased. She looked at Carter, her eyes heavy-lidded.
“We survived the Great Grocery Raid and the Pizza m******e,” she murmured, leaning her head against his chest.
Carter simply held her, inhaling the sweet, faint scent of the French macarons that still clung to her hair. “We did, my love. And now,” he whispered, “you nap.”
“What about you?”
“I have some work to take care of with the guys. I’ll be home by dinner time.”
“Okay,” Sarah nodded, and made her way to the bedroom. She changed out of her clothes into her comfy sweats and oversized t-shirt, and lay down. The moment her head hit the pillow, she passed out. Carter kissed her forehead, whispered how much he loved her, and couldn’t wait to build a life with her. He gently closed the bedroom door and headed over to the shared townhouse between Warlord, Fury, and Poseidon, which was three houses down to the left.
- Writer
