Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
“That’s crooked,” I said, stepping back to study the evergreen garland Dominic had just draped across the top of my main display window.
Dominic turned from where he stood on the step stool, one eyebrow raised. “It’s exactly level. I used the measuring tape.”
“The garland is level,” I agreed, moving closer. “But the pine boughs are distributed unevenly. There’s too much weight on the left side.”
He climbed down and stood beside me, studying his work with exaggerated seriousness. “I see. So you’re saying my garland hanging technique needs refinement?”
“I’m saying…” I reached up to adjust one of the pine sprigs, redistributing it toward the right, “that there’s an aesthetic to holiday decorating that goes beyond just making sure things are straight.”
“Mmhmm.” His tone was far too amused.
I shot him a look. “What?”
“Nothing, aside from the fact that I don’t understand why the shop needs more garland when Christmas has passed.
” But his silver eyes were dancing as he leaned against the counter, arms crossed, looking unfairly attractive in his dark blue henley and jeans.
This was Dominic in casual mode—no suit, no corporate armor, just my alpha spending a lazy Saturday helping me decorate my shop.
“I told you, it is District tradition to add more decorations for the new year.” I turned my back to him so I could survey my garland.
He released a long-suffering sigh, making a dismissive ‘carry on’ gesture. “Very well. Continue improving my apparently substandard garland work.”
I spent the next few minutes carefully rearranging the evergreen sprigs until the visual weight felt balanced, very aware of my mate watching my every move. When I finally stepped back, satisfied, he was smiling.
“Better?” he asked.
“Much better.” I moved to the shoe display I’d spent an hour organizing that morning—boots arranged by leather warmth tone, creating a gradient from deep burgundy to rich brown to honeyed tan.
One of the boots had been shifted slightly out of place, probably when I’d brushed past it earlier. I adjusted it back into position.
“You rearranged that display already,” Dominic observed. “Twice.”
“I’m making sure it looks right.” I stepped back, checked the alignment, then shifted another boot a fraction of an inch. “First impressions matter. Mrs. Henderson said we’re expecting increased tourist traffic for the centennial celebration.”
“Uh-huh.” Dominic pushed off the counter, moving closer. “And the leather samples?”
I glanced at the sample wall, where I’d reorganized the swatches this morning by color, texture, and alphabetically by tannery. “What about them?”
“You color-coded them. And then arranged them by texture gradient.”
“That’s just efficient organization,” I defended.
“Baby.” His hands found my hips, pulling me back against his chest. “You’re nesting.”
“I am not nesting.” But a blush warmed my skin from throat to ears even as I leaned into him. “I’m decorating for the centennial and making sure the shop looks professional—”
“You’re preparing our space.” His nose pressed into my neck, breathing deeply. “Making it perfect and safe and beautiful. It’s instinct.” His hands slid to settle on my stomach. “And it’s adorable.”
“It’s embarrassing,” I muttered, but I didn’t pull away. His warmth, his scent, the solid presence of him behind me—it all felt too good.
“It’s natural.” His lips brushed the shell of my ear. “I love watching you do it.”
We stood like that for a long moment, just breathing together, while Christmas music played softly from my vintage heirloom radio and winter sunlight streamed through the front windows.
Then I spotted the wreath I’d hung on the wall behind the register. “That’s off-center.”
Dominic’s laugh rumbled through his chest into my back. “It’s fine.”
“It’s crooked.” I extracted myself from his arms and moved toward it, already mentally measuring the adjustment needed.
“Leo—”
But I was already reaching up, trying to lift the wreath off its hook. It was heavier than I remembered, made from real evergreen boughs wired onto a grapevine base. My fingers caught the wire loop—
“Let me get that,” Dominic said, suddenly there, reaching over my head to adjust the wreath.
“A little to the right,” I murmured. “There. That’s perfect!”
He moved to stand beside me, his shoulder brushing mine. “Better?”
“Much better.” I nodded. “Now I just need to hang the garland swag above it. The one that goes all the way up to the crown molding.”
“I’ll get the ladder.” Dominic was already heading toward the back room before I could protest.
“I can carry a ladder—”
“I know you can,” he called back. “But you’re not going to.”
I heard him moving things in the storage area, the scrape of wood against wood. A moment later he emerged carrying my tall ladder, maneuvering it through the curtain with ease.
“Where do you want it?” he asked.
I pointed to the spot beneath the highest hook. “Right there.”
Dominic positioned the ladder exactly where I indicated, making sure the feet were stable on the hardwood floor. He tested it with a firm shake, nodded with satisfaction, then turned away to retrieve the garland swag from where I’d laid it across the counter.
The ladder was right there. Perfectly positioned. Ready.
I climbed the first rung. Then the second. Then the third.
“Okay,” I called down cheerfully as I reached a comfortable height. “Now hand me the garland.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
I looked down to find Dominic frozen in place, the garland swag clutched in his hands, his expression cycling rapidly through disbelief, shock, and dawning horror.
“What are you doing?” His voice came out strangled.
“Hanging the garland?” I offered innocently. “You set up the ladder for me.”
“I set up the ladder for ME.” His scent spiked sharply—protective aggression flooding the shop so intensely I could taste it. “Get. Down. NOW.”
The alpha command in his tone vibrated through my bones, and made my omega instincts war between submission and defiance. “I’m only four rungs up—”
“You’re four rungs too high while carrying our baby.” He dropped the garland and closed the distance to the ladder in two strides. His hands locked onto my hips like steel bands. “Get down, or I’m pulling you down.”
“You’re being ridiculous—”
“Ridiculous?” His voice cracked on the word. “You’re three months pregnant and you climbed a twelve-foot ladder the second my back was turned—”
“Your back wasn’t turned, you were right there—”
“—and you think I’m being RIDICULOUS?” His fingers tightened possessively on my hips. “I swear to god, if you don’t climb down right now—”
“What?” I challenged, even though I could feel the genuine fear rolling off him in waves. My heart squeezed inside my chest as butterflies fluttered in my stomach. “What are you going to do?”
His answer was to simply lift me off the ladder entirely. One moment I was standing on the fourth rung, the next my feet were in the air as he pulled me down and against his chest with zero regard for my protests.
“Dom! I was perfectly safe—”
“No.” He held me pinned against him, my feet dangling, his face buried in my neck as he breathed harshly. “No, you weren’t. You’re never climbing anything again. Not ladders, not step stools, not counters, not anything higher than the ground floor.”
“That’s completely unreasonable—”
“I don’t care.” His voice was rough, shaking. “I can’t— Leo, I can’t watch you take risks like that. Do you understand? The thought of you falling, of our baby—” He broke off, his grip tightening. “I can’t.”
The raw emotion in his words cut through my defiance.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered against his shoulder. “I didn’t think—”
“You didn’t think because you’re nesting and your brain is focused on making everything perfect.
” He finally set me down but kept his hands on my waist, keeping me close.
“Which I understand. Which I love watching. But—” His forehead pressed against mine.
“You have to let me do the dangerous parts. Please.”
“Climbing a ladder isn’t dangerous—”
“It is when you’re pregnant.” His thumbs rubbed circles on my hip bones, soothing now rather than restraining. His fingers swept across my forehead, nudging a wayward strand of hair. “I need to win this one, baby. I will win this one.”
My breath caught at the intensity in his voice.
“Promise me,” he demanded. “No more ladders. No more climbing. No more risks.”
“I promise,” I said. And I meant it. “No more ladders.”
“Thank you.” He pulled me closer, breathing deeply, his scent still sharp, almost resinous. “Now I’m hanging that garland, and you’re going to stand safely on the ground here and tell me if it’s crooked.”
“It will probably be crooked,” I muttered.
“Then I’ll adjust it until you’re satisfied.” His voice had shifted, taking on a different edge. “Because that’s what I do. I give you what you need. Keep you safe. Make sure you never have reason to climb a goddamn ladder again.”
The intensity between us had shifted, thickened. The anxiety was fading, replaced by something headier. He was still holding me, my body pressed against his, and suddenly I was very aware of every point of contact between us.
“You can let go now,” I said, but my voice came out breathless.
“What if I don’t want to?” His eyes darkened as his fingers slipping under the hem of my sweater, the heat of his palms scorching the bare skin beneath. “What if I want to keep you right here where I can make sure you don’t do anything else that stops my heart?”
“Dom—”
“You ran from me yesterday.” His voice dropped lower, more intimate.
I had. My body melted at the memory of his pursuit. “I didn’t run—”
“You did.” He backed me slowly toward my work table, his body caging mine. “And it triggered something in me. Made me want to chase. To catch. To claim.”
My breath caught.
A beast with its fur on the inside.