Conall
She’d said she’d think about it. I’m far from out of the dog house despite what she’d let me do to her this morning.
My hound chuffs within me.
Okay, maybe not me as I am right now, but still me.
She'd trusted me at least that far and I’m hell bent on making sure Ivy can keep putting her trust in me.
I don't push. I don't hover. What I do instead is make breakfast, leave it on the counter without saying anything, and fix the loose hinge on the front gate that's been shrieking every time she opens it.
An hour of work. She never has to know it was me. I do it anyway.
We walk to the shop without speaking, which should feel bad but doesn't. She takes my arm at the bottom of the bluff where the stones are slick and doesn't comment on it. I feel every second of both.
She wasn't supposed to be like this. She was supposed to be an inconvenience. A temporary obstacle between me and the freedom I'd been waiting my whole life to have. She was supposed to be someone I resented in the abstract, and never thought about specifically.
My hound knew better from the first night. I'd called him an overprotective ass for it.
In the shop I watch her in the reflection of the window, writing something in a notepad at the counter, and I feel something settle into place in my chest. Not dramatic. Not a revelation. Just the quiet acknowledgment of something I've been fighting.
I'm not getting my life back. She is my life. I work around the shop.
"Ivy's Gifts and Things," she murmurs while doodling on a notepad, pen swirling across the page. I'm dusting under jars because that's what I do now.
"What?" I ask, setting a jar back on the shelf and coming to the counter across from her. She startles as though she hadn't meant to say it out loud.
"Oh, I was just workshopping a possible store name. If I did decide to change it. You know, if I end up being allowed to stay."
A name to make the store more hers. The vulnerability in her eyes is heartbreaking. She's poured her heart into a business before, and had it taken from her by someone who should have protected her dreams. Deciding to try again must be terrifying. She's so brave, my mate.
I reach across the counter and gently pull the notebook toward me. She lets me. On the page is a design, the shop's name written for a sign enclosed in ivy vines. Given my species, her name feels fortuitous.
"This is beautiful," I say, tracing the vines as they snake around the letters. I look up and find her face flushed, brightening her brown eyes and bringing out her freckles.
"I don't know yet. We'll see." She shrugs and pulls the notepad back to her side of the counter, closing it.
I lean in closer. "Ivy, no one's making you leave this island, and no one's taking this store, and no one's taking the cottage. They're yours as long as you want them. I won't let them. Understand?"
I expect deflection, defensiveness, maybe sadness. I don't expect her to fist my shirt in her hand and pull.
I happily comply, dipping forward and capturing her mouth with mine. My hand slides up to cup her jaw and then shifts so I'm holding her throat. Not squeezing, just claiming.
"My mate," I growl into her mouth. She opens and my tongue sweeps in, thrusting shallowly. She moans and it goes straight to my cock.
But we're in the store, and sure enough the door swings open to reveal a very flustered pixie glowing red with blush. I take note of where Ivy tucks that design away, knowing exactly what it means to her. And planning ways I can show her she can trust me.