A Twist of Lemon: A Dad's Best Friend MMF Romance by Havoc Wilde & H Wilde

Author:Havoc Wilde & H Wilde [Wilde, Havoc & Wilde, H]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2025-03-06T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 20

Atticus

Ilean back in my chair, take a sip of my coffee, and let the bitterness roll over my tongue. Ezra and Lemon are across from me, finishing up their breakfast like some cute little domestic couple playing house. The whole scene's got this strange vibe, like I'm watching a rerun of a sitcom where everyone knows their lines but doesn't quite fit their roles.

"Pass the cream?" Lemon asks Ezra, her voice all sweet and earnest, and I almost choke on my drink. This girl's got a way of making the ordinary seem sexual, even if it's just crepes and whip cream.

"Everything is always better covered in cream," Ezra replies, pushing the porcelain dish across the table with that lazy grin of his.

I set down my cup, letting it clatter onto the table with purpose, just to remind them I'm still here.

Watching.

Lemon shoots me a look before pouring a bit of what I assume is almond or oat milk into her own coffee and then taking a sip. "I'm doing the dishes," she announces, pushing her chair back with a scrape that echoes through the room.

Well, I guess she won’t be eating the rest of the crepes on her plate then.

"Domestic goddess in training, are we?" I quip, arching an eyebrow. But she doesn't flinch, just gathers the plates with a kind of stubborn grace that makes you wonder what the hell she's trying to prove.

"Someone's gotta do it," she retorts, heading for the sink.

"Knock yourself out," I say, leaning forward with my elbows on the table, enjoying the show. It's not every day you see someone so determined to scrub my attention away with soap and hot water.

Ezra watches her too, his expression caught somewhere between admiration and bemusement. He glances at me, and there's a flicker of tension in his eyes, like he knows I’m about to ruin everything. And he’s right, I am.

"Want some help?" Ezra offers, half-rising from his seat, but Lemon shakes her head, wisps of her hair falling out the up-do she has it in.

"Got it covered," she insists, turning on the tap with a flourish. I watch her dive into the monotony of suds and plates.

She bustles around, playing housewife. I can practically see Ezra's ego inflating.

My jaw clenches. This little domestic fantasy they've got going needs to end.

Now.

Getting up from the table with a screech that cuts through the running sounds of water, I down the rest of my coffee, letting the bitter edge sharpen my senses. My gaze locks onto Ezra's, and he sighs.

"Let's go," I snap, grabbing Ezra by the arm. There's no room for protest; my grip is ironclad, and I haul him up like he's weightless. The clatter of porcelain being washed fades behind us as I drag him through the brownstone, our footsteps echoing off the polished floors.

"Atticus, what the hell?" he asks, but there's an undercurrent of excitement in his voice. He loves this as much as I do. The push and pull, the chaos we create together.

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