Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
The smell of roasted chestnuts hit me the moment we stepped out of the car, warm and sweet against the crisp winter air.
Downtown Millcrest remained decked out in full holiday splendor—twinkling lights strung between lampposts, wreaths on every storefront, and festive winter scenes adoring each window.
Dominic had been aghast when I told him that it was Millcrest tradition to extend the Christmas cheer into well past late-January.
“That long?” he’d asked.
“Honestly,” I’d said, laughing at his look of horror. “It’d probably be longer if we also didn’t make such a big deal out of Valentine’s Day.”
I suddenly stopped, sniffing the air. “I smell roasted chestnuts…”
“Over there,” Dominic said, nodding toward a vendor cart where an elderly man was scooping chestnuts into paper cones.
We joined the short line, and I found myself smiling at a group of children pressing their faces against a toy store window nearby, their breath fogging the glass. Christmas music drifted from somewhere—Bing Crosby crooning about a white Christmas.
“Two, please,” Dominic said when we reached the front, and moments later he was pressing a warm cone into my hands.
The first chestnut was perfect—sweet, slightly smoky, the warmth seeping through the paper into my cold fingers. I made a sound of appreciation that had Dominic smiling.
“Good?”
“So good.” I popped another into my mouth. “The baby approves.”
“Then we’ll get more for the walk back.”
We strolled down Main Street, eating chestnuts and window shopping. The furniture store was three blocks down, but neither of us were in a hurry.
“So,” I said finally, “the sheriff.”
Dominic nodded, his expression shifting to something more serious. “He’s bringing in the FBI. Special Agents from the Organized Crime unit.”
“Good.” Relief loosened something in my chest. “That’s good.”
“From now on, we stop investigating.” Dominic’s mouth quirked. “And by that, I mean you.”
“Yes, sir.” I ate another chestnut. “What else did he say?”
“Forensics came back on Thomas.” Dominic’s voice dropped. “He was stabbed. Kitchen knife, probably. The angle suggests he was facing the killer during the confrontation.”
I stopped walking. “So he maybe knew his killer? Possibly even trusted them?”
“That’s the theory. There were defensive wounds, but minor—like he was surprised by the attack, not fighting for his life.
” Dominic’s jaw tightened. “Hawkins thinks the murder wasn’t planned.
Someone panicked, stabbed him, then had three days to figure out how to hide the body before the concrete was poured. ”
“Three days.” I tried to imagine it—the fear, the calculation, the cold-blooded determination to bury that secret. “Someone he trusted enough to meet with at the pharmacy site.”
“Someone who knew the construction schedule.” Dominic shook his head. “Could be any of them. The judge or his wife. Henry and Richard Fairfax. Vicente...”
We started walking again, slower now.
“Hawkins will handle it,” Dominic said firmly. “And we—” he caught my hand, threading our fingers together, “—are going to stay out of it. It’s time to focus on us. On our future.”
“On buying furniture,” I said, managing a smile.
“On buying furniture,” he agreed, squeezing my hand. “Starting with a bed.”
The furniture store was warm after the outside chill, smelling of wood polish and new fabric. Christmas garlands decorated the displays, and more holiday music played softly—Nat King Cole this time.
“Can I help you find anything?” A saleswoman approached, her smile bright and professional.
“Bedroom furniture,” Dominic said. “We’re furnishing a new apartment.”
“Wonderful! Our bedroom collections are in the back. King size? Queen?”
“King,” Dominic said, at the same moment I said, “We should probably look at both.”
The saleswoman’s smile widened knowingly. “I’ll show you both.”
We spent twenty minutes testing mattresses—Dominic methodically checking firmness and support while I flopped dramatically onto each one to check for “comfort.” He rolled his eyes but couldn’t quite hide his smile.
“This one’s nice,” I said as I stretched out across one mattress, my arms and legs splaying like a snow angel.
Beside me, Dominic pressed his palm into the surface, apparently checking “the resistance” and “depth of compression.”
His brow furrowed slightly as he assessed the surface. “Seems to a have a bit too much give,” he murmured.
“I like the plushness,” I countered, wiggling deeper into the cushiony top.
His lips twitched as I launched myself onto a pillow-top, though he tried to maintain his serious expression while inspecting the edge support. When I bounced on a particularly springy model, the corner of his mouth finally betrayed him, curving upward despite his best efforts.
“This one,” I declared, sprawled starfish-style on a pillow-top king. “This is the one.”
“You said that about the last three.”
“This time I mean it.”
Dominic sat on the edge, bouncing slightly to test the springs. “It’s good. Firm enough for support, soft enough on top.” His hand found my ankle, squeezing. “We’ll take it.”
We moved through the store, picking out nightstands, a dresser, debating the merits of various sofas for the living room.
Dominic had opinions about everything—the wood grain, the drawer construction, the fabric durability—and I found myself content to let him take the lead, occasionally vetoing his more utilitarian choices in favor of something with more character.
“The nursery,” I said as we passed a display of children’s furniture. “We should look.”
Something shifted in Dominic’s expression—a softening, a warmth. “Yeah. We should.”
We wandered through cribs and changing tables, and I tried to imagine our baby sleeping in one of these.
Our baby. Our pup.
The reality of it still hit me at unexpected moments.
“We have time,” Dominic said quietly, reading something in my expression. “We don’t have to decide everything today.”
“I know.” I touched the rail of a white crib with clean lines. “I just want to get it right.”
“We will.” His hand found my lower back. “We’ve managed to get a lot right so far.”
We moved on, past dining sets and office furniture, and that’s when I saw it.
It was tucked in a corner of the store, a massive bean bag chair—easily six feet across, covered in plush charcoal fabric, designed to look like a nest. The sides curved up slightly, creating a cocoon-like shape that something deep and instinctual in me responded to immediately.
I stopped walking.
Dominic noticed. Of course he noticed.
“Leo?”
“Nothing.” I forced myself to keep moving. “Penny would love that.”
“The bean bag?”
“It’s very him.” I glanced back at it despite myself. “All cozy and yet somehow still fabulous.”
Dominic studied my face with that penetrating gaze that always saw too much. “Try it.”
“What? No. We’re here for real furniture.”
“Try it,” he repeated, steering me toward it with a hand on my back.
“Dominic—”
“Penny would want you too. He’d probably demand it.”
I shot him a look, but he just raised an eyebrow, waiting. And the truth was, I wanted to. My inner omega was practically purring at the thought of sinking into that nest-shaped softness.
“Fine,” I muttered. “For Penny.”
I lowered myself onto the bean bag and immediately understood why I’d been drawn to it. The fabric was impossibly soft, the filling shifting to cradle my body perfectly. The curved sides rose up around me, and I felt… held. Safe. Like I was wrapped in a hug.
I may have made a sound. A small one.
Dominic’s expression shifted to something warm and knowing. “Move over.”
“What?”
He was already toeing off his shoes. “Move over.”
I shifted—there was plenty of room—and then he was settling in beside me, his larger frame making the bean bag shift and adjust until we were both cradled together, my back against his chest, his arms around me. His palm curved over my small baby bump, warm and protective.
It was ridiculous. We were two grown adults lying in a giant bean bag in the middle of a furniture store while Bing Crosby and Carol Richards sang about silver bells.
It was also perfect.
“Penny would love this,” I said again, but my voice came out softer than I intended.
“Mm-hmm.” Dominic’s chest rumbled with amusement against my back. “You and Penny can lie here together and plot whatever mischief you’re planning to turn my hair grey.”
A laugh bubbled out of me—genuine, surprised. “Your hair is already grey at the temples.”
“Distinguished silver,” he corrected.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
His arms tightened around me, and I felt him press a kiss to my hair. For a long moment, we just lay there, cocooned in softness, Christmas music playing around us, the stress and chaos of the past weeks feeling very far away.
“We’re getting it,” Dominic said.
“I don’t need—”
“We’re getting it.”
I smiled, letting myself sink deeper into the ridiculous, wonderful, nest-like embrace of the giant bean bag. Into my alpha’s arms. Into this moment of peace and happiness.
“Okay,” I said. “Cause Penny will love it.”
“Yeah,” Dominic agreed, and I could hear the smile in his voice.
We lay there a while longer, planning our future, letting ourselves just be in the moment.
Eventually, we’d have to get up. We’d have to pay for our furniture and arrange delivery. We’d have to go back to Blake’s face reality.
But for now—for these few stolen, wonderful minutes—we were just two people building a life together.
And what a wonderful life it promised to be.