Vitani is a part of one of the most feared Hunter families. She's not known for destroying packs on her own, she does that with her family. In fact, she's never been on a mission alone. She's known for being one of the most heartless hunters. As a s...
I got up and off the bed, but immediately stopped when I realized I was naked. I looked around, grabbed Atticus' shirt, and ran out to the kitchen, fearing something may have happened to Atticus. When I reached the kitchen, I stopped and stared at the scene in front of me.
Atticus was wearing a yellow apron on top of his clothes. He was currently trying to put out the napkin which had caught fire, while lowering the fire on the stove which was cooking a pancake with steam coming off of it. May I mention he was lowering the wrong one because he was more focused on the burning napkin.
Men, I rolled my eyes.
I walked over to where Atticus was, poked a hole in the napkin with a stick, threw it in the sink, turned on the water, walked over to the stove, and lowered the fire.
"Thanks, but I didn't need your help," Atticus said, pointing his chin up.
I raised an eyebrow.
"Sure you didn't," I said, walking over to the sink and turning off the water.
"I tried making breakfast for you, but as you can see, the mission failed," he said, scratching the back of his head. A cute, sheepish grin tugged at his lips, making my heart flutter. I laughed.
"I'll make breakfast," I said. He walked over to me and grabbed my waist, pressing me against him.
"You look very good in my shirt," he said, a smirk appearing on his lips.
"You look very good in an apron," I joked. He chuckled and leaned down to kiss me.
"I will be right back, I'm going to go change," I said. He nodded, "I'll try and clean up the mess I made."
"Good idea," I laughed.
When I came back, Atticus had managed to scrape the burnt pancake off the pan and take the disintegrated napkin out the sink.
"Teach me how to cook, ragazza," Atticus said in a strange accent.
"What the heck was that?" I asked, referring to his accent.
"It's Italian," he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. I stared at him with what I assume was a confused expression.
"What, didn't I sound Italian?"
"No," I burst out laughing. He huffed and took the yellow apron off, tossing it on one of the chairs. He took a seat, placing his chin on his hands and winking at me.
