Chapter 6 #3
I’m immune to nothing. Not her blush. Not the way she bites back her smile. Not the fact that she’s sewing this stupid costume like it’s a sacred mission.
“So,” I say casually, “what’s your underwear style?”
“Normal.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is.”
“Absolutely not. ‘Normal’ could mean anything. Polka dots. Flowers. Dinosaurs.”
Her lips twitch. “I’m not telling you.”
I lean a little closer, just enough to make her breath hitch. “C’mon. Professional curiosity.”
“Yeah, right,” she states with a cheeky grin.
“I’m a dedicated researcher.” I gesture vaguely. “I investigate… patterns.”
She tries not to laugh and fails. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re avoiding the question.”
“Because it’s none of your business.”
“That sounds like a yes to dinosaurs.”
She stabs the needle through the fabric with unnecessary force. “It’s not dinosaurs.”
“Unicorns?”
She tightens her lips like she’s trying not to smile. “Are you finished?”
“Not even close.”
She hands me the tights, brushing my fingers accidentally, though it feels intentional enough to unleash something hungry under my ribs.
“There,” she says. “Patch is visible, but it’ll do.” She stands, dusting imaginary lint from her elf dress. “Try not to rip them again.”
“No promises.”
Her gaze meets mine, a flick of mischief. “Didn’t think so.”
And just like that, the room feels too small. Too warm. Because she’s still close, smelling like sin, and I suddenly want to know every ridiculous, adorable secret she has, including what she’s wearing under that dress.
I take the tights from her, pull them back on. The fabric is snug, but the repair holds when I test it by doing several squats.
When I turn back around, Hannah is standing, and the space between us is maybe eighteen inches. Close enough that I can see every spot of glitter on her cheeks in detail, smell her scent even stronger now that we’re alone.
Her eyes travel up from my torso to my chest, and I watch her pupils dilate slightly.
“You know,” I say quietly, “those D&D people were really onto something with the whole elf-fantasy thing.”
She blinks, refocusing on my face. “Perhaps.”
I step closer, and she doesn’t back away. It takes everything I have not to close the remaining distance and kiss her. “Hannah. Did you ever think you’d find your scent match at a petting zoo?”
Her eyes go wide, her breath hiccupping.
“Ah.” I keep my voice gentle, nonthreatening. “You sense it too, then.”
She’s blinking rapidly, and I can practically see her mind working through the implications. “I—that’s not—look, I need to focus on this event right now. Not complicate it with… whatever this is.”
“It’s not a complication.”
“I beg to differ.” She moves toward the door, but I step sideways, not blocking, just delaying, and rest my hand against the wood.
She glances up at me, and I can spot her trembling slightly. Fear? Attraction? Both?
“I won’t do anything you don’t want,” I say quietly. “But I need you to be honest with yourself. You feel it. The pull. The recognition. You know what we are to you.”
She swallows hard. “I’ll think about it.”
The words surprise a laugh out of me. “Okay, then.”
“Noel, I’m just dealing with the disaster to my career with Scot. I can’t pile pack dynamics and scent matches and whatever else comes with this on top of everything else. Not right now.”
“You don’t have to decide today, but sometimes the universe doesn’t wait.” I move my hand from the door, giving her space to leave if she wants. “I can be patient. Think about it. We’ll talk later.”
She darts out the door before I can say anything else, and I’m left standing alone in the small room, my heart racing, my entire body still humming with her presence. I give myself ten seconds to calm down, then head back outside.
Kane appears at my elbow immediately. “What were you two doing in there for so long?”
“I told her she’s our scent match.”
His shoulders stiffen. “You just—you straight up told her?”
“Someone had to. She knows we know. And yep, she feels it too. We just have to wait for her to accept it.”
“Chris is going to be insufferable when he finds out.”
We’re both watching Hannah now, and there’s something different in how she moves, more aware of where we are in the space, glancing over at us more frequently.
A goat wanders over to her while she’s talking to a family with two kids. It starts chewing on the hem of her dress.
She doesn’t notice.
Kane and I exchange looks. “Should we tell her?” Kane asks, keeping his voice low.
“Where’s the fun in that?” The goat keeps chewing, fabric unraveling, and Hannah is still completely oblivious, focused on explaining the proper way to pet another goat to a very serious five-year-old.
“She’s going to lose that dress,” Kane observes.
“Probably.”
“And you’re not going to warn her.”
“Not yet.”
We watch as the goat keeps going. Another seam on the side starts to give, threads popping one by one.
Hannah is gesturing animatedly, describing something about wool production, completely unaware that her costume is slowly being destroyed.
“We’re terrible people,” Kane mutters.
“The worst.”
But neither of us moves to help.
Then Chris appears, sees what’s happening, and immediately shoos the goat away from Hannah.
Kane and I both glare at him.
He catches our expressions and grins, completely unrepentant.
Traitor.
Hannah finally notices the goat situation, examines the damage to her dress, and gasps at the mess.
Then she stares up at us from across the pen, catching the two of us watching, fully aware we’ve been enjoying the spectacle.
The goat bleats, stretching toward her hem again as Chris holds it back, and she mutters that she’s going to grab a bucket of grain.
I should look away and get back to work. Give her distance. But my body refuses. My instincts have already decided that she’s the center of my map now. Even if she’s not ready.
I’ve lived with enough empty places to know what it feels like when something fills the quiet. Too many rescues came too late. Too many names I could not save. I have carried the weight of that since I was young, and I told myself I would never fail again.
So when she walked into my life smelling like fate, I refused to look away. I can’t. This is a gift I never thought I’d be trusted with. Someone who might choose me back. Someone I could protect and worship like the sky at midnight. I have lost enough. I will not lose her.