Chapter 8
Gavrel
“The botanical gardens are closed today,” I said in the kitchen as we were finishing washing the breakfast dishes. It had been three days since I picked her brain for her preferences. Three days since I set my plans into motion. “Corey is spending the day with Jake.”
“Yes,” Sammy said, handing me a rinsed pan for me to dry and put away.
“I was hoping you’d be willing to help me with something.”
She paused, her hand on the faucet before she started scrubbing the last pan. “What did you have in mind?”
The words rushed out of me. “I know it’s your day off, that you may have other plans but—”
She turned to face me, leaning her hip against the counter. “What do you need? I feel as if I owe you at least a hundred favors already, so now I can pay one back.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
My heart pounded in my chest. I’d rehearsed this conversation multiple times in my head over the past three days, but now that the moment had arrived, every carefully planned word scattered like leaves in the wind.
“I’ve been looking at properties in the area,” I said. “Online. There are two I’d like to see today, and I need someone with practical experience to help me evaluate them.”
She finished the final pot and placed it in the drying rack. “Properties.”
“Both on the lake. I have appointments scheduled.” The words came out too fast. I forced myself to slow down. “Your skills would be invaluable. You understand kitchens and gardens, what makes a space functional versus merely adequate.”
Surprise flickered across her face, then an expression I couldn’t read. “You’re not returning to France?”
The way her voice caught on that last word made my tail twitch. Hope, fear, or both?
“I moved here for good,” I said. “I love the manor, but I need my own studio. A workspace separate from where Feydin and Dazy live.”
I watched her process this information. Her shoulders relaxed, and she bit her lower lip. I’d learned that meant she was thinking hard.
“I’ve never… I mean, I’d be happy to help.”
She didn’t meet my eyes for a moment, and when she finally did look up, I found a hint of vulnerability there.
My tail twitched with the urge to pull her close, to smooth away whatever worry was causing that look.
“We’d need to leave soon,” I said. “The first appointment is at eleven.”
“Right. Okay. Let me just…” She glanced down at herself, still in the clothes she’d put on before breakfast. “I should change.”
“You look fine.”
Pink stained her cheeks. “I’ll be quick.”
She disappeared upstairs, and I stood in the kitchen trying to calm my racing pulse. Did I sound too eager or presumptuous?
I couldn’t tell her I was looking for our home, a place that would fit her perfectly, that would make her light up the way she had when planning Corey’s class trip. A sanctuary I could build for my mate.
It didn’t take long to reach Jake’s house to drop off Corey. I’d folded myself into the passenger seat of Sammy’s Honda, my wings compressed against my back in a way that would’ve been uncomfortable if I weren’t so focused on watching her.
She kept glancing in the rearview mirror at Corey, a hint of sadness in her expression.
Corey filled the silence with chatter about Jake’s new video game and the science project they were planning. I responded when appropriate, but most of my attention stayed on her.
My tail did an unconscious swish when I thought about spending the entire day with her. Just the two of us.
“Your tail is happy,” Corey said, grinning at me from the backseat. He pointed. “See, Mom? It’s doing the swishy thing.”
She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Jake’s mom, a cheerful human woman named Maggie, met us at the door. “Corey, Jake’s in the backyard. Go on through.” She turned to Sammy. “We’ll have him back by six.”
“Thank you so much for having him.”
“Oh, it’s no problem. The boys have so much fun together.” Maggie glanced at me, then back at Sammy. “Jake said Corey talks about his gargoyle friend constantly.”
Sammy’s posture stiffened. Was she uncomfortable with how quickly I’d become part of their lives or was it something else?
We walked back to the car, Sammy hugging herself despite the warm day.
I wanted to ask what she was thinking, but the words stuck in my throat.
Back at the manor, I led her around to the clearing behind the house. “I’ll need to carry you. Is that alright?”
She nodded, but she swallowed hard.
“Like this.” I held my arms in the bridal carry position. “You’ll be secure against my chest. I’m very aware of my own strength. I won’t hurt you.” I held her gaze. “Trust me.”
Her eyes searched mine for a moment before she stepped forward into my arms.
The world narrowed to her scent, her warmth. The soft curves of her body against mine.
I tightened my hold carefully, aware of human fragility and how easily I could harm her if I wasn’t careful.
“Ready?”
“Ready.”
I spread my wings and launched upward.
She gasped, her fingers digging into my shoulders. Her body went rigid against mine.
“I won’t let you fall,” I said, keeping my voice low and soothing.
After a few moments, she began to relax. Her heartbeat raced against my chest, before gradually slowing. Her death grip on my shoulders eased.
She laughed, a sound I’d never heard from her before. I liked it. For now, she wasn’t the stressed single mom or the worried employee. She was just Sammy, flying free.
Emotions overwhelmed me, stealing my breath.
Her hair whipped in the wind as she took in everything below us.
“Look.” She pointed. “Is that the farmer’s market?”
I banked lower, wanting to give her this. I wanted to see joy on her face for as long as I could.
She laughed again, and I curved my tail around her waist. She didn’t seem to notice or mind.
She felt warm and soft against me. One of her hands slid to my chest, directly over my heart.
Could she feel it racing?
When she turned to point at things, her face came close to mine. I couldn’t forget the taste of her lips or the small sound she’d made when I’d deepened our kiss.
I forced myself to focus on flying before I did something stupid like kiss her again mid-flight.
“I’ve never felt like this before,” she said softly.
I wanted to ask what she meant, but she looked so happy I stayed quiet, not wanting to break the spell.
When I started descending toward the first property, she made a small sound of disappointment. “Already?”
My wing membranes fluttered with pleasure.
I set her down on the dock carefully. She swayed, and I steadied her with a hand on her elbow.
“You alright?”
She nodded, flushed, smiling. “That was incredible.”
The cottage sat back from the water, charming in a postcard kind of way. White clapboard siding, blue shutters, a screened porch facing the lake.
“Oh,” Sammy said. She took a few steps toward it, but stopped, looking back at me as if she needed to ask permission to be excited.
I gestured toward the house. “Go ahead, explore. I’ll meet the realtor in the driveway.”
Mason was a friendly wolf shifter with knowing eyes. He watched Sammy walk toward the cottage, and looked at me with a slight smile.
“Beautiful property for a family,” he said.
Sammy’s shoulders tensed.
I followed her through the cottage, hanging back, studying her face more than the rooms. Every expression and pause went into my mental catalog.
My tail swished when she lit up. I took mental photographs of what made her happy.
In the kitchen, she ran her hand along the counters. Opened cabinets, checking storage. Examined the stove with a critical eye.
She stood at the sink, looking out the window at the water. “The view is nice. The kitchen’s small but workable. Someone would need to replace the stove and expand the counter space.”
She said ‘someone,’ not ‘you.’
“For a person who cooks seriously, would this space work?” I asked.
She frowned. “It could with modifications.”
In the living room, she gravitated to the fireplace, touching the stone. “Perfect for chilly winters.”
I watched her peek into both bedrooms. Her expression shifted, a hint of melancholy crossing her face. She didn’t comment on the bedroom count, but I did. Two.
She barely gave the single bathroom a glance. “Needs updating.”
But she lingered on the screen porch, sitting in a wicker chair, gazing at the lake.
“Imagine having morning coffee here.” Catching herself, she stood. “Sorry, you probably want to see everything.”
I wanted her to stay and keep imagining, picturing herself in this space.
Outside, she walked through the garden, identifying plants by name. She touched flowers gently, like greeting old friends.
At the water’s edge, she slipped off her shoes and stepped into the lake up to her ankles.
The sunlight brought out the red in her hair and the peaceful expression on her face.
“Wildflowers would grow nicely along that fence,” she said, pointing.
She saw potential everywhere.
An old garden bench sat under a willow tree. She gravitated to it and sat down, closing her eyes briefly. “This is a good reading spot.” Her cheeks darkened, and she opened her eyes. “Sorry, I’m probably not being helpful.”
I wanted to tell her she was being perfect.
But what I noticed most was what she wasn’t saying.
Every comment was personal, wistful. She used ‘someone’ and ‘would’.
Hypotheticals, not personal recommendations.
She touched things like she was testing to see they were real, but caught herself if she was being too enthusiastic and guarded her words.
She looked at me after expressing opinions, as if she was worried about overstepping.
As we walked back to meet Mason, I ran through my mental assessment. The property was decent but not perfect. The kitchen was too small for her skills. Only two bedrooms would feel tight. The garden was lovely and well-established but not hers to bring to its fullest.
What she loved: lake access, the bench, the porch, and the view.