Her Knotty List (MVP: Most Valuable Pack Book 4)
Her Knotty List: Chapter 35

*Totally Not Spam*

Micah

*Knox has left this group chat*

Let me tell you something. Training to become a firefighter wasn’t exactly a walk in the park. There were burns, smoke inhalation, bruises, scrapes, and scars.

But nothing—nothing—I dealt with could have prepared me for this.

“What is it?” I mutter, poking my fork at the vaguely meat-like substance floating in a dark-orange sauce. Or, bobbing, more like.

Zane swallows hard, his dark gaze skirting from the omega humming at the stove to the table between us. When he winces, I empathize completely; everything is laid out so beautifully that it clenches my gut.

Emma spent two days planning this dinner. She worked so hard, scrolling through recipes while we all orbited around her, doing our best to keep her happy and entertained. Most of yesterday consisted of lounging on the couch for her favorite Christmas movies, watching cooking tutorials on YouTube.

She also spent most of today shooing us all out of the kitchen before excitedly calling us back in several hours later. Now, none of us can tell what, exactly, she’s served.

Thankfully, our sweetheart is oblivious to the strained hush looming over us. She bops along to the Christmas music playing through her phone’s speaker while she plates up one last item.

Knox’s eyes go from soft to squinting as he turns from her smiling profile to the dish in front of him. He cocks his head, considering in his stoic, silent way.

Gunnar touches the tines of his own fork to the saucy mass on his plate, gnashing his teeth in a grimace. “She said she was making Zane’s favorite.”

Zane’s eyes bug out of his model-like face—a surprisingly ugly look I’ll have to remember to chuckle about later. “This is supposed to be Swedish meatballs?”

I look back down at the gloopy orange sauce, my eyes rounding. “Oh, boy.”

I’ve only had Swedish meatballs at Ikea, but this looks nothing like that. For one, our little omega made five giant meatballs instead of giving each of us several small ones. And then there’s the color… and the consistency… and—oh, shit.

“What are those black flecks floating in the sauce?”

Ever the competitor, Gunnar’s the only one who’s forced himself to take a bite. He’s also turned a white-gray color. “Something charred,” he coughs, covering his mouth. “Fuck.”

Knox chances another glance at Emma before shoving his mega-meat-mound to the side of his plate, revealing the white gloop underneath. He scoops some up and shoves it into his mouth while she has her back turned.

“And potatoes.” He manages to turn his choking gag into a throat-clearing cough. “I think.”

The music abruptly cuts off. Emma whirls, catching all of us with our forks poised to poke at the meatballs some more. The sweet, trusting girl doesn’t even notice, though. Her brows fold over her green gaze before bouncing back up excitedly.

“My sister is calling!”

Knox, God bless him, sends her a steely beat of alpha power. “Go talk to her, honey. We’ll wait for you.”

It’s impossible not to smile at the way she jumps and scuttles out of the room, slipping on her fuzzy reindeer socks while she swipes the call on. We all watch her leave…

And fly into motion.

“Holy fuck,” Gunnar groans, scrambling to the kitchen trash can and spitting into it repeatedly.

Zane snatches his dish and mine, nodding at the others while he hisses, “Hurry! I can make sure they’re cooked through, but we don’t have much time!”

I jump up to help him hustle to the stove. We both frantically unload the meat mountains into the dirty pan Emma left out. Gunnar makes another retching noise, the sound almost drowning out⁠—

Holy shit.

Is Knox laughing?