Chapter 10

BRATT.

Taking Noah to my folks’ place was always a treat for everyone involved. I usually got to eat an amazing homecooked meal with my parents, Noah got to be spoiled by his grandparents, and Mom and Dad got a chance to spend time with their only grandson.

My mother, while identifying primarily as a shifter, had a lot of Italian heritage in her bloodline. In fact, she was the first generation born in the States to my late grandparents after they immigrated. Because of that, food had always been equated with love in my household, and we ate a lot of amazing food.

Now that my parents were retired, my mother spent most of her time improving old recipes. Buying her a pasta press for Christmas a couple of years prior was the best and worst decision I ever made.

When we pulled up outside of the house, even Travis could smell the fresh garlic and butter from outside their beachfront bungalow.

“Holy shit,” he said as we climbed out of the car.

“Uncle Travis! Bad word!”

“I know, I know