[ Working for his family has been something that Derek has known for years and years now. Through high school and one funeral, through college and one nasty affair, he's the jack of all trades that's more than just a jack that his parents and uncle have all tasked with assorted jobs over the past twenty-four years. It was only when he was away for college that he could escape it for a couple of months at a time, but now it seems like he's slated to work at House of Hale for the unforeseeable future.
Not that anyone in his family really blames him, after that entire fiasco. Eventually he plans on going on to get his masters, but right now he's more than content to hide away in the safety of the bed and breakfast-- even if it means that, most mornings, he works at the front desk. Someday he's going to kill Peter, and it'll be the most satisfying thing ever.
It was something he'd thought about the new hand that they hired on, one college student in need of money towards his own schooling. But after two summers, he's changed his tune. Despite the fact that he still gives Stiles hell for the coffee incident, he's maybe more than a little fond of their cook. Laura and Cora give him hell for their bickering, citing them as a long lost married couple on any given day. Peter gives him this smarmy stare, eyebrow arched.
Reagan, god bless his brother, is the most innocent creature that could ever exist. He's thankful for the fact that he just loves Stiles and doesn't question the fact that his big brother tends to spend an incredible amount of time with him, texts him when he's at Berkley.
Sometimes, he wants to pretend that there's nothing there. Kate is still a fresh wound to him-- hell, Paige is still a fresh wound-- but something about Stiles makes it hard for him to. So there's something there, and try as he might to deny it to any of his relatives that give him what they think are knowing looks, there's no real pretending.
Derek looks up from where he's doing booking, double-checking reservations and walk-ins and making sure that everything is in order so that they don't overbook and that they know what rooms need cleaned and who has wakeup calls. His eyes drop down again for a moment as he sees that it's Stiles approaching, hardly registering that he's carrying something towards him. But he's at ease when he sees who it is, tapping his pen in an idle rhythm as he works.
But then he's suddenly got one limby college student squeezed into the alcove with him, and he moves his right hand to steady Stiles at his waist. Mostly to make sure he doesn't topple over on him, or dump what he has in his hands onto his head. It's an easy gesture as he writes with his left hand, handwriting not quite as neat but still tidier than Stiles' messy scrawl.
And that's when he actually sees what Stiles is setting down in front of him. He blinks once, slowly, as he stares down at the pancakes before his eyebrows slowly start to raise.
He clears his throat a little, looking up at Stiles from where he's seated. ] Do we?
HELLO MA'AM.
Not that anyone in his family really blames him, after that entire fiasco. Eventually he plans on going on to get his masters, but right now he's more than content to hide away in the safety of the bed and breakfast-- even if it means that, most mornings, he works at the front desk. Someday he's going to kill Peter, and it'll be the most satisfying thing ever.
It was something he'd thought about the new hand that they hired on, one college student in need of money towards his own schooling. But after two summers, he's changed his tune. Despite the fact that he still gives Stiles hell for the coffee incident, he's maybe more than a little fond of their cook. Laura and Cora give him hell for their bickering, citing them as a long lost married couple on any given day. Peter gives him this smarmy stare, eyebrow arched.
Reagan, god bless his brother, is the most innocent creature that could ever exist. He's thankful for the fact that he just loves Stiles and doesn't question the fact that his big brother tends to spend an incredible amount of time with him, texts him when he's at Berkley.
Sometimes, he wants to pretend that there's nothing there. Kate is still a fresh wound to him-- hell, Paige is still a fresh wound-- but something about Stiles makes it hard for him to. So there's something there, and try as he might to deny it to any of his relatives that give him what they think are knowing looks, there's no real pretending.
Derek looks up from where he's doing booking, double-checking reservations and walk-ins and making sure that everything is in order so that they don't overbook and that they know what rooms need cleaned and who has wakeup calls. His eyes drop down again for a moment as he sees that it's Stiles approaching, hardly registering that he's carrying something towards him. But he's at ease when he sees who it is, tapping his pen in an idle rhythm as he works.
But then he's suddenly got one limby college student squeezed into the alcove with him, and he moves his right hand to steady Stiles at his waist. Mostly to make sure he doesn't topple over on him, or dump what he has in his hands onto his head. It's an easy gesture as he writes with his left hand, handwriting not quite as neat but still tidier than Stiles' messy scrawl.
And that's when he actually sees what Stiles is setting down in front of him. He blinks once, slowly, as he stares down at the pancakes before his eyebrows slowly start to raise.
He clears his throat a little, looking up at Stiles from where he's seated. ] Do we?