Chapter 3
Chapter Three
“Is there anything I can help with?”
My bones nearly leap from my body the moment Izzy’s voice projects from the doorway behind me. Gripping at my sternum and gasping for breath, I keep my bulging eyes on the loaf of sourdough I’d just taken out of the oven.
Breathing still steadying, I turn to her cringing face and try to smile, though I’m pretty sure I’m grimacing.
“I am so sorry,” she whispers, eyes going wide. “I…” She winces. “I don’t spend time with people in domestic situations often.”
I add another note to my mental “Izzy File.” She’s a loner.
“That’s okay,” I tell her with a laugh, my hand going to the back of my neck. “I know what that’s like.”
At least, I do now.
This B&B had been my parents’ dream, and I’d just been happy to see them happy. I’d helped out whenever I could, but kept some part-time jobs of my own to earn cash during high school and college, but I’d always lived here with them since they bought the place.
Years of living with renovations until the place was ready to be inspected for the business license. When it was granted to them, they’d thrown a party, with the framed paper as a centerpiece, as they celebrated with all their friends.
I was about sixteen when The Cozy Crescent was born.
I was almost twenty-five when I inherited it last year.
“So,” Izzy’s tone is tentative, “can I give you a hand with anything?”
My smile is kind as I shake my head, no. “I just wrapped a little baking session. Are you hungry?”
Her light gray eyes sparkle as she nods, sending her long, raven’s wing hair bobbing along with the motion.
I know I’m staring at her, but I can’t stop myself.
When she arrived, it was like discovering the most beautiful work of art in a museum. You want to touch it, but you shouldn’t, so you admire it from afar, longing to know what those sculpted curves feel like.
But when we stepped outside, it was like walking right into a brick wall of realization.
Her scent, that wonderful lemon blossom scent, invaded every one of my senses, sliding like smooth silk over my skin and wrapping itself around my heart in a warm embrace.
And I was—still am—scared to death.
Izzy Ross is my Omega. My scent match. Something I never in my life expected to actually find, yet still waited all my life for.
What do I do? What do I say? How am I supposed to act?
I never had those overbearing, growling Alpha instincts so many others do. I know I’m more passive and easy-going than some would expect.
Does Izzy like the big, burly Alphas who always want to be in control? Would she ever be interested in someone like me, or would I be a disappointment?
“I’m starving, actually.”
Without thinking, I jump into action, heading for the huge, stainless Sub-Zero fridge across the kitchen and swinging open the French doors.
“We have all sorts of cold-cuts I just got from the deli, and I have about every form of condiment you could ask for,” I tell her. “If meat isn’t your thing, I have all sorts of veggies and vegetarian dips.”
“Oh, meat is definitely my thing.”
And there go my bones again, trying to escape my body at the sound of her sultry voice right beside me.
She’s stealthy, like a ninja.
Kunoichi? Isn’t that what female ninja are called?
“It is,” she says, and I look down at her smiling face, realizing I’d asked that out loud.
And what was that she said about meat?
A nervous laugh escapes me, and I clear my throat. “Uh, would you care to look at what we have? I can whip something up for you.”
“Why don’t you,” she places a hand gently on my forearm, making me shiver, “go sit down. I think I’ve caused you enough duress with my stealthy ninja ways for now.”
Dammit. This was not the way I wanted the afternoon to go. I should be comfortable in my own freaking skin, like a man, not scared and jumpy like a little boy.
Setting my jaw, I turn from the fridge and return to my cooling bread, busying myself with setting up a bread knife and the dish of soft sweet butter I’d set out, then taking a plate from the cabinet and setting it on the island counter where Izzy had made probably the fastest decision I’d ever witnessed.
She’d taken some cold cuts, cheese, and mayo out, moved the salt and pepper grinders closer to her.
She smiles at me before pulling the plate over to her little work station.
“Do you want fresh sourdough for your sandwich? I also have white and wheat.”
“Sourdough sounds perfect.”
I turn back to my perfect loaf and start slicing.
It took me almost six months to get my mother’s recipe right, despite her meticulous notes on how to do what. She’d always covered her recipes in chicken-scratch, adding new tips, tricks, and observations each time she made something. This way, she’d never forget what improvements she made.
Now, I do the same. Though, my handwriting is a bit neater.
As Izzy makes her turkey and ham sandwich, I butter the heel of the sourdough and take a bite, letting the savory flavor permeate my mouth as I chew through the crust.
“No sandwich for you?”
I peer at her over my bread heel. She’s gathered all the items to return them to the fridge.
“No, thank you,” I say. “But let me get all that for you so you can eat.”
She’s shaking her head and already moving for the fridge. “I’ve got it.”
She didn’t let me make her sandwich, she doesn’t want me to clean up after her, and right now our dynamic is host and guest. If she won’t let me care for her when it’s my paid job, what would this mean for a relationship between us? Would she ever let me care for her?
I may have only known her for about an hour, but Izzy seems like an independent woman.
“Tell me about yourself, Will,” she says, taking a seat on one of the barstools at the island.
I purse my lips. “If you let me get you something to drink.”
She lets out a laugh and nods. “Okay. Any diet cola?”
I grin and head back for the fridge, where on the other side of the lunch meat are a few can caddies and well-organized glass bottles of beer, courtesy of my friend Vaughn at Wildflower Brewing Company.
With a can of diet cola in my grasp, I dip down to the freezer drawer below for a frosted glass, then bring both to Izzy, whose eyes widen at the sight.
“Oooh, fancy,” she hums as I pop the tab and pour the soda into the cold glass, then turn the handle in her direction. “Thank you.” Her smile is bright, but her eyes are hooded as she looks up at me, and my heart flutters in my chest.
“You’re… totally welcome.” I am King of Nonchalance. All shall bow to me. “So, you want to know about me, huh?”
She nods on a sip of cola.
I lean on the island, careful to keep a respectable distance between us.
“Well, I was born and raised here in Crescent Lake. Even went to a local college about thirty minutes away.”
“What did you study?”
“Business Management.”
She smiles at me over her sandwich. “And now you run a Bed and Breakfast.”
I give her a closed-mouth smile and bob my head once.
“Where’d you learn to cook?”
“My mom taught me, but I’m not as good as I want to be. I keep practicing, though.”
“Your sourdough is amazing,” she says after swallowing another bite of her sandwich, those gray eyes twinkling.
This brings another smile to my face. “I appreciate you saying so.”
“So, do you run this place by yourself?”
“I do.” I try not to sound clipped, drag out the O a bit, but I’m not ready to discuss the particulars yet. “Where did you travel here from?”
Another sip of her soda. “I live in L.A. I left super early, so it was a smooth ride here.” She leans back a bit, her lips quirk. “Anything interesting happening here in Crescent Lake?”
I let out a chuckle. “Well, it’s not cold enough for the lake to freeze, so no ice skating yet. But we have just about any kind of shop you might want to visit, all locally owned. The only thing that isn’t owned by a Crescent Lake native is that giant eyesore of a hotel by the lake.”
“I did notice the hotel when I arrived.”
“Thank you for not staying there, by the way.”
She grins. “This is more my speed. Your place is beautiful.”
Warmth blooms in my chest at her repeated praise. I’m not sure what to do with that.
Izzy yawns, covering her mouth with her hand. “Sorry, I didn’t sleep much last night.”
“You should take a nap.” My instincts to care for her kick into overdrive, and I grab her empty plate, can, and glass, then take them over to the sink before turning back to her. “If you want, I can wake you. Just tell me what time.”
She gives me a sleepy smile. “No need for all of that. I have my phone alarm.” She hops off the barstool. “But you’re right. I should get some sleep so I have enough energy to explore the town tomorrow morning.”
With a smile, wave, and a “Thank you for everything,” she disappears from the kitchen.
Exploring Crescent Lake sounds like a good way for her to fall in love with the town. Maybe want to stay longer so I can get to know her more. Convince her that we belong together...
Well, a man can hope.