Chapter 6 Hawthorn
SIX
HAWTHORN
My wolf wouldn't stop niggling me about Zale.
All morning, while I kneaded dough and shaped loaves, he'd been pacing and whining, telling me to check on Zale and make sure he was okay. It was six-thirty and I'd already been working for hours, but all I could think about was the omega sleeping upstairs.
This was ridiculous. He had a cold, not the plague. He'd be fine without me hovering. But when Mrs. Trent commented that I was distracted and I handed Benjamin the wrong pastry, I gave up pretending I could focus.
I climbed the stairs with water and more pills telling myself this was about being a responsible employer. That was it. But deep down, I knew this was more than employer concern.
The apartment was quiet. Through the bedroom doorway, I could see Zale sprawled across my bed, his face flushed with fever. My wolf surged forward, wanting to climb in beside him and keep him safe.
I set the pills on the nightstand and forced myself to leave before I did something silly like stroke his brow.
Relationships weren't for me. I'd learned that lesson three times over. The bakery came first, always. No one could handle the hours and the exhaustion. Zale was just passing through town anyway. He'd said so himself.
I repeated this to myself all morning but it didn't help.
By noon, I couldn't stay away any longer. Putting a sign on the door, saying I’d be back soon, I headed upstairs and made toast with honey because it’d be easy on the stomach.
Zale was awake this time, wrapped in a blanket on the couch, looking rumpled and far too appealing for someone who was sick. He'd changed into sweats.
"Hey." He smiled when he saw me. "I was wondering when you'd come check on me."
"You need to eat." I set down the plate, acutely aware of how domestic this was and how right it felt having him in my space. These thoughts that kept popping into my head were unsettling though my wolf approved of Zale being in my apartment.
I sat in the armchair—not the couch beside him—and watched him eat. We talked about my grandmother, the bakery, the summers I spent here growing up and the promise I'd made to keep the bakery alive.
"She would have liked you." I immediately wished I could take that back because it was too revealing.
But Zale just smiled, and something stirred inside me.
He asked about his family and hearing about some other alpha trying to claim him had my wolf snarl possessively which was silly. He wasn't mine.
I fled downstairs again because I was torn between getting as far away as possible and crawling under the blankets with him.
The afternoon dragged on. I imagined Zale in my apartment, surrounded by my scent. My wolf kept pushing at me to go to him but I shoved the instinct down. That wasn’t sensible. He worked for me and was figuring out his life. I didn't do relationships anymore. That was my rule.
When I finally closed the bakery and locked the door behind me, I made a quick trip to the store. When I walked into the apartment with an armload of groceries, Zale was awake.
His eyes widened. "What's all that?"
"Dinner." I busied myself at the counter, not trusting myself to look at him. "You need real food."
He wanted to help but I told him he was still recovering, though he looked much better and no longer had a fever.
"Please?" His voice had that worn, recovering rasp. "I need to feel useful."
I couldn't say no to that.
We worked side by side in my tiny kitchen, and every accidental touch sent heat racing through me. His scent was muted thanks to his illness but it was still intoxicating. My wolf was content in a way he rarely was, happy to have Zale in our home.
Our home. When did I start thinking of it as ours? It was mine and my wolf’s yes, but it’d been Zale I was thinking of.
"This is nice," he told me. "Cooking with someone."
"Yeah." My voice was thick with emotion. "It is."
When the pasta and salad were ready, we sat at my small table, and our knees kept bumping. I wanted to tell him that he made my empty apartment feel like home, but I tamped down the words.
After dinner, I suggested he rest more, and told him he had to stay the night.
I neglected to say I’d phoned Miriam and told her to get the heating fixed which she had.
I couldn’t bear to have Zale leave. Despite the warnings in my head about getting involved with him, I didn’t want this quiet intimacy to end.
He settled on the couch and I sat at the opposite end. I told him how I’d burned my first batch of croissants.
"What did you want to be?" I asked, wanting to keep to safe topics. "Before your family planned your life?"
He tilted his head. "I always liked the idea of creating something tangible. Before I came here, I worked as a graphic designer designing websites."
Though my beast didn’t comprehend what a website was, he urged me to have Zale design one for me.
"Hawthorn," Zale said softly. "Thank you for looking after me today."
I wanted to do so much more than look after him for one day. Instead, I wanted to wrap my arms around him and never let him go, keeping out the cold and anyone who tried to hurt him.
My wolf was quieter now. As if he sensed something was changing between us, something that had nothing to do with instinct and everything to do with choice.
But me choosing to ignore my self-imposed rule was a terrible idea.
Relationships never worked because no one could put up with the demands my profession put on me. And Zale was my employee and he was recovering from being sick. All reasons why my mind shouldn’t be studying his big blue eyes and picturing what he’d look like if he removed his pants.
My hand moved, as if of its own accord, to brush hair from his forehead. His skin was cooler now, but the touch sent heat through me anyway.
"You still need rest." But I didn't move away.
"I know." Neither did he. "In a minute."
My hand slid to cup his jaw. His breath faltered.
"This is complicated," I managed to get out.
"Everything is.” His eyes lowered, lingering on my mouth. "But this feels right."
This felt more right than anything had in years. And I was so tired of being alone, of convincing myself the bakery was enough. Maybe it didn't have to be.
I closed the distance between us.
The kiss started soft, tentative, but the moment our lips met, the pent up emotion inside me ignited. Zale made a small sound and he fisted my shirt, pulling me closer. I'd meant to keep it gentle, but then his lips parted and I was lost.
I pulled him into my lap. He came willingly, straddling me, his fingers threading through my hair. The kiss deepened and I gripped his hips, feeling the heat of him even through his clothes.
This was everything I'd been denying myself for weeks. I relished his taste and how he gasped when I kissed over his throat.
"Hawthorn." My name on his lips was a pull I couldn’t resist.
I kissed him harder as my hands roamed over his back. He rocked against me and a slow, molten warmth slid through me.
This was moving too fast. But I couldn't stop and didn't want to. Not when he was kissing me like I was air and he was drowning and when every nerve ending in my body was on fire.
"We should—" I started, but he kissed me again, muffling my words.
"Don't think," he murmured against my lips. "Please."
I stood and lifted him with me. His legs wrapped around my waist and desire surged through me. I carried him to the bedroom, kissing him the whole way, unable to stop touching him.
When I lay him on my bed, he looked up at me and his gaze darkened with desire.
"Are you sure?" I had to ask, even though every part of me begged us to keep going. "You're still recovering."
He pulled me down. "I want you."
That was all I needed to hear.