Chapter 33
N ora
I wake up early, head buzzing, body heavy like I have the mother of all hangovers.
For a few seconds, I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, blanket pulled up to my ears like it can block out the echo of last night.
Jericho’s voice is still in my ears.
I’ll keep her mine.
The way he said it—low, fierce, like it cost him something to admit—has been haunting me ever since I closed the door behind me like a barrier between me and the intensity of it all.
I throw on a hoodie and pad out into the kitchen, where Grandma’s already at the table, buttering a piece of toast with the same determination she hunts caffeine. She’s in her robe and fluffy slippers and has her signature Don’t Talk to Me Before Coffee mug.
She doesn’t look up as I walk in. “You sleep?”
“Barely.”
“Mm. No wonder, from all that noise.” She takes a bite of toast, chews thoughtfully.
Shit. I didn’t even check on her when I dropped myself, exhausted out of my mind, in bed.
“You heard the noise?”
“Only the dead didn’t hear that,” she snorts.
Feeling a strong pang of guilt, I ask, “Are you okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Another snort while she salutes me with her cup. “I woke up before you and snuck out this caffeinated goodness before you could spoil my fine morning.”
“Grandma,” I sigh loudly. “You know you can’t have caffeine.”
“You shush.” She waves me off with her hand.
I want to continue scolding her for her bad habit but there’re more urgent matters.
“I’m sorry you had to witness that.”
“Sorry about what? Two men fighting over my granddaughter?” She takes a sip of coffee, and her face stretches with a wide smile. “I’m not sorry about that. I was about to send Reggie at the dickwart when I heard that you already had someone over there fighting for your honor.”
“Reggie?” Who is Reggie? Is Grams losing it finally? I’ve been dreading this moment.
Her eyes widen, and she hides her face behind the rim, gulping the hot liquid like it’s her salvation.
“You drank yesterday?” She switches the subject in thin air the way I change crystals on my nightstand every evening.
“No,” I reply, watching her for any signs that her memory is beginning to give up.
“That’s a shame.” She tsks, making me laugh.
Grandma finally lifts her eyes, and I know that look—it’s the one she uses when she’s trying to x-ray you without asking a single question out loud, and all my doubts about her mental health are gone in an instant .
“You going somewhere?” she asks.
I glance at the thermos I’m prepping. “Thought I’d bring coffee next door,” I reply, feeling shameful meeting her eyes.
Her eyebrows raise, but just a little. “Oh?”
“Yeah.”
“Is Steve even awake at this hour?”
I press my lips together to hold back a laugh. “That’s not his name, Grandma.”
She waves her toast. “Steve, Jericho, whatever. Grumpy boy with nice arms.”
“Grandma,” I laugh.
“What?” She shrugs. “You think I’m blind?”
I shake my head, grinning as I finish topping the thermos. “You’re incorrigible.”
“And you’re glowing.” She switches the path of her thoughts—or mine—once again.
That makes me pause. I turn, brow raised. “I am not.”
“You are,” she says smugly. “I won’t say anything. But just know, when you’re ready to talk, I’ve got ice cream and judgment-free ears.” Then she adds with a finger lifted in the air, “Very curious ears.”
I smirk. “No offense, but you judge people all the time.”
She grins. “It comes with old age.”
I walk over, kiss her on the cheek, and she pats my hand like she already knows everything I’m not saying.
As I head toward the door, I catch her muttering behind me, “Tell Steve I said good morning.”
“Jericho, Grandma,” I call back. But I’m laughing as I step out into the chilly morning air.
The world is quiet. Pale blue light stretches across the sky, the kind of stillness that only exists before the rest of the world wakes up.
The snow is deep and stiff, but my boots are thick enough to go through what little fell over the wee hours of morning—everything else has been cleared by the thoughtful man next door .
Pausing in front of the invisible line separating our land, I take a deep breath and cross that barrier I’ve built for myself.
And there he is.
Not Jericho.
The rooster.
He struts through the yard like he pays taxes. Head high. Tail feathers bouncing. Unbothered by boundaries, like always. I envy the creature.
I glance at him, shaking my head. “Morning, cockblocker.”
He crows in something close to an agreement, like he knows exactly what he is. I probably should make an attempt to catch him, but I’m too tired, and he’s too fast. I’ll probably end up face first in a mountain of snow and no one will ever find me.
Flipping the bird off, I decide to leave the catching game for another day when I have more energy and less brain fog.
When I reach Jericho’s porch, I pause. Not because I’m nervous.
Okay—yes, I am. A little. After last night, I don’t know where we stand.
That evening of revelations was too much for my already overwhelmed brain after the day we had.
We didn’t talk about feelings. Didn’t kiss goodbye.
We didn’t do anything earth-shattering really.
Except… we did. Being in the same space and then witnessing him going off like that to defend my honor feels like a big step for my untrusting mind.
I knock twice. The door creaks open after a second, and there he is. Jericho, not the rooster.
Sleep-rumpled. Barefoot. Wearing a long-sleeved shirt and sweatpants, with his damp hair making him look even more disheveled. He blinks at me like I’m not real.
“I brought coffee,” I say with a shy smile, holding out the thermos.
He stares at it. Then at me. “Why?”
I blink, losing a bit of the bravado I had when I left my house. “Because it’s morning?”
He runs a hand over his face. “You know I’m bad at this.”
“At mornings?”
“At… people. This. Whatever this is.”
I take a small step closer, still holding the thermos. “It’s just coffee, Jericho.”
He mutters something like a curse and takes it from me, brushing my fingers when he does. His hands are rough and warm. just like I remember them from yesterday.
“Thanks,” he mumbles, already retreating inside.
I follow without asking, stepping into the kitchen where everything looks the same as last night—but feels different. I’ve been in this space with its rightful owner rubbing my feet. Am I allowed to be more relaxed here now?
Feeling a little braver when he doesn’t stop me, I open a couple of cabinets till I find the mugs and grab one. I fill a cup to the brim and pass it to him.
Leaning against the counter, he starts sipping the coffee like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. He doesn’t look at me, and I don’t press. Besides, what would I ask? Are you going to keep me as you promised?
Outside the window, I spot the rooster pecking around. What he is looking at deep in the snow besides his demise is beyond my understanding.
“Your chicken’s back,” Jericho says without looking up from the floor.
“He’s not mine.”
“He lives at your place,” he notes smugly.
“He lives at your place too,” I counter.
“He was here before I moved in.”
“Then you live in his place.” I grin, enjoying the lightness that’s slowly returning between us.
Jericho freezes mid-sip and lifts his head. “S’pose I do. ”
Hiding my smile, I get a cup for myself to make myself busy. I feel awkward just standing here and gawking at him.
“You sleep?” I ask quietly, trying carefully to touch base about yesterday.
He shrugs. “Enough.”
“You didn’t punch a wall or anything, did you?” I say as a joke, even though we both know it’s not.
He snorts. “No. Tempted though.”
I nod. “Me too.”
“You too what?” he asks with a curiously quirked brow.
“Was tempted to punch the wall.”
He watches me for a few moments before he starts chuckling.
“What?” I ask when his giggling starts playing on my nerves. I mean, I’m all for laughing, but together. “What?” I repeat in a more annoyed tone when he doesn’t answer right away.
He pushes away from the counter and walks up to me.
“You, Nora Moon,” he starts, gently touching my chin with his thumb, “are not capable of any kind of violence.”
“You haven’t seen me mad,” I whisper back, dumbfounded that he’s figured me out in such a short amount of time when the majority of people in my life haven’t after years of knowing me.
“I have,” he says softly. His eyes move between mine for a few short moments before dipping to my lips. “And you were graceful.”
The sudden sting behind my eyes makes my vision blurry, and the pressure on my chest makes it hard to breathe. I’ve been called a lot of things in my life, but graceful was never one of them.
After another long pause of us just watching each other, he says, “I meant what I said.”
Somehow, I know exactly what he’s talking about .
“Are you sure?” The loud insecurity in my own voice makes me hate myself.
“Never been so sure in my life.” His thumb moves to my mouth and gently pushes on my lower lip. “Never.” His attention is focused on my mouth, and when my tongue peeks out to lick my suddenly dry lips, his does the same.
“I’m not trying to mess this up,” he says, voice low and gruff. Like something is preventing him from speaking clearly. “I just… I’ve never done this kind of thing before.”
“What kind of thing?” I ask on a whisper while trying very hard not to suck his digit into my mouth. And it’s a real battle.
“This.” He drops his head, taking a small step backward. “Whatever’s going on. I don’t know the right steps.”
“There aren’t any steps,” I say. “Right or wrong.”
He looks skeptical. “People don’t usually like when things are not done the right way.”
“I’m not people.” I smile, feeling the confidence returning to my voice. “I’m the granddaughter of the Moon, remember?”
His lips twitch. “That you are.”
Slowly retracting back to the counter, he returns to sipping his coffee. I take a sip of mine and wince. He notices it and walks to the fridge with a small smile. “Here.” He grabs a carton of half-and-half and passes it to me.
“Thanks. How did you know?” I say as I pour a hefty amount into my coffee. I like my coffee black when I need it to kick-start me on early mornings; any other days—which are rare—I prefer the time to consume it lazily, meaning I like to add copious amount of cream.
“I just do,” he replies proudly, and then adds out of nowhere, “You’re way too good for Dick, by the way.”
He chooses the wrong time to say this, and my sip of coffee goes down the wrong pipe. Waiting for me to cough it out, he asks, “Need some help? ”
Stopping his advance with a raised hand, I finally take a lungful of air. “Thanks for the late-breaking news flash.”
His gaze is intense. “I’m serious.”
“Jericho.”
He glances back at me. “He doesn’t get another chance.”
The way he says it—so matter-of-factly—sends a little jolt down my spine.
It’s not like I was planning to get back with my ex, but Jericho’s unhealthy obsession with it makes me curious. “Don’t get me wrong, I have no interest in getting back with Dick, but why does it matter to you so much?”
The corner of his lips twitches. “Do you really need to ask that?”
“I guess I do.” Spreading my arms, I shrug one shoulder.
“I can get… protective.” It takes him a second to find the right word.
The warmth of his words spreads through me like a sip of a warm drink on a cold evening.
“And you’re always this protective?” Even though I know he is. The way he stepped up for Karina at the diner, and Grandma at our first meeting when he thought I was rude to her.
He shrugs. “Sometimes. But in this case, I’d call it—” He trails off. Clears his throat. “Possessive.”
That word hangs in the air. I sip my coffee and look away, tasting the word on my tongue. Trying to figure out what I’m feeling about his declaration. Looking for any ounce of fear.
But I find none.
“What about you?” I ask.
“What about me?”
“Is there someone out in the wild haunting Jericho’s dreams?”
“More like nightmares.” His answer makes me uncomfortable. It implicates that he indeed had or still has a woman .
“Oh.” My disappointed tone and the face to match are probably loud enough because he starts talking rapidly.
“No, it’s not like that.”
“You don’t have to explain anything to me, you know.” I move to the sink and start washing my cup for something to do with my hands; otherwise I’d fidget with anything I could put my hands on.
“Nora, stop.” He walks up to me and places his hand on my arm. “Stop, please.”
His pleading tone makes me pause, and I turn off the water and face him. He steps backward and pushes his hand into his hair, raking it into a wild state.
“See? I told you I’m not good at this.”
His voice lost his confidence just like mine moments ago. His brows look worried as his eyes dip to the floor. He looks like the epitome of distress, and I feel a pang of guilt. Maybe, just maybe, this gorgeous, strong, and safe man has even less experience in this dating charade than I do.
“Neither am I.” I slowly walk up to him and place my hand on his chest. “I should have reacted differently. Like an adult, you know,” I add with a cheeky smile. “Look at us, having our first fight.”
“I wouldn’t call it ‘first,’” he notes lightly.
I stare into space. “M-m-yeah, probably not. Wanna learn together?”
His face loses all humor. “Do you?”
Somehow, the question feels heavier than it sounds. Like he’s asking way more than I asked him, so before I reply, I give myself time to really think.
With a determined sigh, I place my second hand on his chest and let it slide behind his back. Slowly and very carefully, I pull myself closer and rest my head between his pecs—very mighty ones, I might add.
“I do,” I whisper into his body, feeling it take a deep breath under my touch .
His hands wrap around me, dragging me closer into him.
We don’t say anything else.
But we both know it now.
We’re in it.
Even if neither of us knows what it is yet.