Page 115 of Played By Design

The trash can sits under the sink. I lift the lid and drop the bouquet in, paper and all.

The lid closes with a satisfying snap.

Objective: Deleted.

Footsteps sound behind me, and Kain appears in the kitchen doorway, one hand braced on the frame. He takes in the empty counter where the breakfast delivery should be.

“Who was at the door?” he asks.

“Luca.” The lie slides off my tongue. “He was checking if we needed anything before his shift change.”

Kain holds my stare for a beat too long.

Luca doesn’t ring the doorbell. He texts. If he does approach the house, he knocks three times, solid and distinct, the way crew does.

But Kain doesn’t push. His hand drops from the door frame, and he takes a step into the kitchen.

“Food should be here soon,” I say, turning to fetch a fresh pitcher from the cabinet. I run the tap, cold water filling the silence.

Kain moves closer, his warmth seeping into my back, the cedar-and-musk scent of him surrounding me. His breath ruffles the hair by my ear, and I melt the way I always do.

In another minute, my nose will burrow into his neck, and my hands will grip the back of his shirt. His fingers will work into my hair, and he’ll hum low and steady.

And then I’ll forget Kain is the one who’s supposed to be resting while I run the schedule.

My spine stiffens. I can do this.

Spinning, I shove the pitcher into his hands. “Here. Take this to the living room.”

He accepts it, his fingers grazing mine. “Okay.”

“After breakfast, you should go lie back down,” I continue as I follow him back out of the kitchen. “You may be feeling better, but you’re still healing.”

He shakes his head. “I need to check in with work. I already missed Monday.”

“The forum batches are caught up,” I say, sitting in the chair so I’m not tempted again. “I ran the cleanup under your credentials. Nothing’s flagged as overdue.”

His eyebrows lift. “You’ve been doing my work?”

“It’s easy.”

“When?”

I shrug. “While you were sleeping.”

Kain sets the pitcher on the side table, next to the old one. “Bunny⁠—”

The doorbell rings again, and I bolt back up to answer it.

This time, it really is our food delivery.

As soon as Kain finishes his breakfast, I snatch up the container. “Lie down. I’ll be right back with your ice pack.”

In the kitchen, I cram the delivery container into the trash can right over the top of those stupid flowers.

What Omega sends an Alpha flowers, anyway? Would Kain even appreciate them?

He’s never bought flowers, so I don’t think so, but now the lack of certainty niggles at my mind.