Cian loved these early mornings with Winter, when the house was quiet, and it was just the two of them, the scent of rising bread, and the constant warmth of the English stove taking the chill off the predawn air. They would talk about the day, sometimes work on replenishing Winter’s stocks, and inevitably practice Cian’s favorite new skill, kissing Winter.
Soon the house would wake—Etienne heading out to the forge, Noel needing to be fed and changed, Jessie getting ready for school, and Alerich and Fitz possibly pouring themselves into bed, still buzzed, from a long night talking literature and politics over scotch in the library. When the house woke, Winter would head out to work at the clinic, and Cian would tend Noel and continue learning about all the things mortals were required to know to pass the tests that would let him apply to the university for his first taste of formal education since coming to this realm. They all had busy days, but early in the morning, before the chores, and meetings, and injuries, there was Winter, and him, and sweet, long kisses with the promise of more growing each day.
Winter sighed in his arms, their breath mingling, content in each other’s company. Someone cleared their throat in the doorway, and with that, the day was begun.
“I had no idea the kitchen was so cozy in the mornings.” Alerich’s tone was light, but his eyes held worry that was clear even to Cian’s inexperienced sight. Rick had only been here for a couple of months. He and Winter’s relationship was blossoming nearly as much as Winter was, carrying his children. But Alerich’s life had taught him caution and that he could be disposable with very little warning.
Winter and Cian both smiled at the wizard, and Winter moved from the circle of Cian’s arms to give him a morning kiss. “Good morning, love. Still up?”
Alerich nodded, but Cian felt his gaze on him as he moved comfortably around the kitchen. Rick seemed to be pondering again whether he was stepping on toes by being here. By loving this woman.
Before Cian could comment, the high-pitched cry of a hungry infant turned all three heads toward the ceiling. Cian smiled and moved to the pair still holding each other near the battered kitchen table. “That’s my cue.” He leaned in for one last kiss which Winter gave happily. Then, he turned his face to the man standing very still in her arms, like if he held still enough, he might be forgotten and allowed to stay. Cian leaned forward and laid an identical kiss on Alerich’s startled lips. “Good morning, Alerich.”
The man looked gob smacked—to use Jessie’s words—and Cian smiled at them both and headed for the stairs and their son. He heard Winter tell Alerich, with a smile in her voice, “I think you have Cian’s vote.” Alerich’s tentative baritone reached Cian halfway up the stairs. “One down, one to go, I guess.” Cian smiled. He liked Alerich. He fit here, with them. Getting that last vote might be hard, but there was a home for him here.
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