34. Isabella
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
ISABELLA
Iswear I can feel Nick’s eyes on me for an entire hour after I leave his side. It’s as if his focus is a physical weight, but instead of being a burden, it’s a comfort like a weighted blanket.
It wraps around me as I walk into Clover’s Market in search of fresh ingredients for tonight’s dinner—and maybe some cute knick-knacks.
My room back in Seattle is almost drowning in little trinkets I’ve found while doing menial jobs, trying to find my passion. While I never did make much headway with that, I collected some cute shit. I’ll have to drive back down and grab all of it if I do end up staying here.
Although, if I’m truly honest with myself, that ‘if’ feels a lot more like a ‘when,’ so long as Nick wants that, too.
I wind through the stalls, absorbing the noise of chattering vendors and the scents of fresh produce and artisanal candles.
I pick up some fall-scented pinecones for my dining room table, already planning a centerpiece around them. The flowers Nick got me are still thriving and would look perfect next to them.
I’m still going through dinner ideas in my head when I come upon the most beautiful cherry tomatoes I’ve ever seen. Thoughts of a noodle dish with fresh tomatoes take form as I trail my fingers along the smooth skins of the yellow and red fruits.
“Four containers, please,” I say to the vendor. I’ll probably have leftovers with this many, but leftovers are a busy event planner’s best friend. This way, when I get lost in my emails, phone calls, and spreadsheets, I can just heat something up rather than force myself to cook.
The man nods, ringing me up on his tablet app.
“Excuse me, do you have—” Before I can even finish my question, a reusable bag is thrust into my hands. I turn to my left to find Clover with a knowing smile on her weathered face.
“You’re going to need more of these before your shopping trip is over. A few vendors sell them.” She winks, then disappears into the crowd.
A small shiver travels down my spine at her premonition, but I shake it off. It’s honestly cool, but I swear she must be messing with me or something. She has to know she’s a little creepy, right?
The vendor takes my bag, carefully placing the tomatoes inside as I wave my phone over the small sensor to pay.
After I finish, I turn, trying to take in all the things I want to explore. It would take me a solid week to actually visit every vendor and see their wares.
Maybe someday I’ll try.
Before I leave, I peruse the aisles for some pasta. I vaguely remember seeing a booth like that on my first trip here.
I bring out the map Clover gave me last time and find Veronica Pasta, making my way through the growing crowd.
“Hi!” A slightly older woman with soft, lavender hair bunched on top of her head says as I approach.
“Veronica Pasta?” I ask, jars of sauce littering the table.
She giggles, all high-pitched and tinny. “Technically, it’s Veronica Wildes, but maybe I should go by Veronica Pasta instead. How can I help you, sweet pea?”
“Some homemade pasta, please. Whatever you recommend.”
“And if I recommend the lot of it?” She raises an eyebrow, all mischief and joy.
A smile spreads on my face. “Then I’m going home with a lot of pasta.”
I burst into my tiny house, arms laden with groceries, tchotchkes, and all sorts of other things from my shopping trip. I wanted to spend even more time there, but I need time to get things ready for Nick’s visit.
This will be the first time he eats dinner here—and hopefully spends the night—and I want everything to be perfect. Well, as perfect as possible.
I drop everything in the kitchen and spend a few minutes in my closet, changing into a black wrap dress. My brown hair cascades down my back in soft waves. Maybe I should wait until after dinner is done, but I’m running late, and I’d rather look nice.
I wrap my new apron around my waist and make up the table. I can be in the midst of cooking when Nick arrives, but I can’t still be decorating. At least, that’s what I tell myself as I unpack my new treasures.
The new woven table runner goes first, then the flowers Nick gave me in a glass vase, and the scented pinecones. Next are placemats, linen napkins, and plates. It’s not that I expect Nick to judge my table-setting skills, but something deep within me wants to continue impressing him.
I turn on some Lizzy McAlpine and hum along as I chop the tomatoes, garlic, chard, arugula, and parsley.
Olive oil and salt coat the tomatoes as I get them started on the stovetop.
I throw in the garlic, chard, and arugula with some water, and finally, the fettuccine noodles Veronica picked out for me. That’ll take a little time to boil and cook.
Excitement skitters along my skin as I wait for Nick. I’ve actually missed him today—despite spending all night with him and seeing him earlier. I like it. I like having someone to miss.
And I’m excited to take care of him. To give him a soft place to land.
It hurts my heart that he’s lost so much, and that he may be worried about losing even more.
I hope he sees this effort for what it is—a promise that I’m not going to judge him. I’m not going to ask him to change.
I like Nick. Wolf and all.