The Grim, Me, and The Reaper Makes Three: A paranormal romance novella by Weston Taylor E

Author:Weston, Taylor E
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Taylor E Weston
Published: 2024-10-25T00:00:00+00:00

6

TATIANA

Apparently death did nothing to curb the sensation of hunger, because Tati was fucking famished.

She’d woken up with the long, lean body of Atticus pressed against her back, and William, still in his dog form, curled up on top of the thick blanket beside her.

It had taken her a moment to piece together the night before, and when she had…fuck if her skin hadn’t heated at the memory of what it had been like to share them.

She hadn’t died a virgin – no, she’d had her fair share of intimate relationships. But nothing compared to what she’d experienced. The contrast between the two men, the way that William had descended into peaceful surrender at Atticus’ hand, the way that both of them had approached her body with nothing but eagerness, drawing more pleasure out of her than she’d ever experienced.

She’d carefully climbed out from between them, slipping on William’s discarded white pirate shirt. The hem reached her mid-thigh — good enough.

And now she stood in the most stunning kitchen she’d ever seen with a singular mission: making herself something to eat.

The kitchen in the dark, gothic monstrosity where these two men lived was something that was too good for the earth. It was too efficient, too beautiful, to have been created by the limitations of the mortal mind.

She rummaged through the cabinets, finding every cooking utensil she could possibly imagine, but nothing in the way of ingredients. Frowning, she wracked her brain, trying to think of where two dead men would keep flour.

When a bag of flour appeared on the counter in front of her, she had to blink twice. Hesitantly, she poked at it. Yes, it was real, and yes, unless she was mistaken, it had appeared out of thin air.

She focused her mind on a particular Irish butter that she was fond of baking with and–

“Fuck yes!” Tati grinned at the paper-wrapped bundle on the counter, and spent the next minute working her way systematically through each ingredient that she needed.

Once the items were all assembled, the familiar dance began.

Tati could still remember the first time she’d ever tasted pie. It was her mom’s homemade chicken pot pie with a flaky crust, and she’d decided then, as a four year old, that pie was the best food in the whole wide world.

Every year for her birthday she’d requested lemon pie. She’d gotten to crumble the graham crackers for the crust, beating the plastic bag with a rolling pin to the beat of whatever ABBA song was blasting from the old boombox in the kitchen. Money was tight, so the indulgence of having pie for her birthday always felt special.

Later, when Tati got a job at the front desk of the local Jewish Community Center, she’d take four dollars from her paycheck every Friday and treat herself to a slice of banana cream pie from Sally’s Diner.

The cook, an old man named Russell, must have noticed her wistful staring as they rolled out the pie crust, because one day they offered her a job as an apprentice baker.

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