23. Nick
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
NICK
Walking away from Izzy last night was the hardest goddamn thing I’ve ever done in my entire life. That moment of insecurity outside her door at the end of the night almost broke me.
I could barely contain the rage underneath my skin at the thought of someone convincing this beautiful woman that she’s unwanted. Not good enough.
Even now, as I hammer nails into the stage, it rips a growl from deep in my chest.
It may take a while, but I’m going to convince her that she is the most precious person in the world to me. That I would do anything for her. And that those who made her feel less than were nothing more than dirt under her shoe.
That journey begins tonight with dinner. My mother spent almost every single meal painstakingly explaining everything about cooking to me and my brother so we would be prepared to pamper our mates.
My chest aches at the reminder that he could be here, but he just isn’t. By choice.
The older brother I knew would’ve loved Izzy. Would’ve loved it that I found my mate and found happiness.
But I don’t know that person anymore. Haven’t gotten more than a ‘hey, I’m alive’ text since the moment he packed up his car and left.
I shake my head. I can’t focus on the things I can’t control. The only thing I can control is how I treat Izzy.
This dinner has to be perfect.
Which is why I stayed up all night baking my own bread from scratch.
I don’t identify much with my French heritage, but making our own bread for loved ones is a time-honored tradition in the Martin household.
All I really know about being French is that my great-grandparents came from France, and that they perfected a few different bread recipes that they passed down through the generations.
It's actually a shame that I never took the time to ask my parents more about my family while they were still alive.
The sky rumbles above me in a threatening tease of the storm yet to come. It’s been darkening steadily all day as I’ve tried to make as much progress as possible.
Unless I want to get drenched, I think I’m done. I’m too distracted anyway. I owe Dane another visit to get some flowers for my table at home, and Georgie insisted on making another dessert.
Werewolves don’t really have packs anymore, as the dynamic isn’t a necessity for survival. But sometimes the feeling of camaraderie I have with my friends feels reminiscent of what I assume packs would be like.
It’s comforting to watch them keep showing up for me. Especially after how hard I pushed them away after my family died and my brother left.
I could barely get out of my house most days. Refused to answer phone calls or open the door.
Dane broke it down one day, but he showed up the next to find it heavily reinforced. I built literal damn walls to keep my friends out while I tried to process the losses.
I pack up my tools quickly before they get wet and pile them into my trunk. I wrap the mostly finished stage in a tarp to protect it and then head on my way to Dane’s flower shop.
I don’t know if he’ll want details or not. His initial response to Izzy was mixed at best. The rose-and-ivy-covered sign comes into view as I turn the corner onto Main Street.
Dane’s mother opened the shop when we were kids, and she retired only a few years ago. Now she happily lives on the edge of town with her chickens and sheep—plus a baby cow I’m pretty sure she adopted a few months ago.
Her life is quiet and content, at least, from what I see when I see her around town. He was always more suited to the shop than she was. She just needed to provide for him.
“Well, look who it is,” Dane says as I enter Wolfsbane. “The man who made another extensive order for his mate and has yet to tell me much more about her other than her name and that she’s an event planner.”
I cross the room, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “What would you like to know?”
Dane opens his mouth, then snaps it shut, shrugging off my hand. He turns to the half-finished bouquet on the counter and busies his hands with his work.
“How did you…” He begins softly. “How did you know? That you found her, I mean.”
“It’s exactly as my parents described it. I walked into Mayor Vale’s office one morning, and I could smell her in the air. It was like being smacked by a tidal wave, dragging me under until all I could see was her. All I could hear. All I could taste.”
Dane’s hands stop working.
A sad smile crosses my best friend’s face. “Unmistakable.”
I nod. “Unmistakable. Once I tell her about the mate bond, we’ll have you over for dinner.”
“You haven’t told her?” His eyebrows raise. “Really?”
“She’s human, Dane. Contemplating being in a relationship with a werewolf is a big step on its own.” I run my hand through my hair. “She deserves time to sit with that before I tell her anything else.”
And maybe, just maybe, I’m afraid that she won’t want me forever. That she’ll reject me, and I’ll be forced to spend the rest of my life alone, knowing she’s out there living a normal life.
His gaze is skeptical as he finishes putting my table arrangement and bouquet in a large box for an easy transfer. “Sure.”
I shrug off Dane’s doubt and ease my way backward out the door, holding the box. “Lock up early tonight. Get some rest. Do something fun.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He waves his hand at me as the door shuts. Worrying about Dane will have to wait for another day. My only concern tonight is Izzy.
Beautiful, enchanting, intelligent Izzy.
There must be hearts in my eyes by the time I drop off the flowers in my car and make my way to Tea Leaves. At least, I would assume so by the way Georgie snorts when she sees me.
“You look ridiculous,” she says before heading behind the curtain that sections off the kitchen from the rest of the shop.
I follow her, mentally preparing myself for the brutal assessment I’m about to receive. “I look just fine.”
She huffs. “Sure.”
Why is everyone saying that to me in that exact tone today? First Dane, now Georgie. They don’t even spend that much time together, but they’re too similar.
We stand in silence as she retrieves the cupcakes from the fridge, and I take a second to appreciate all Georgie has built here against all odds. She inherited the shop from her grandmother only a few years after she graduated high school and has taken it above and beyond.
“How’s your dad?” I finally ask.
Georgie’s shoulders stiffen like I predicted they would. She keeps her back turned, but answers in a flat voice, “He’s fine. I’ll tell you if anything changes.”
He was diagnosed with cancer three years ago, and despite the advanced healing of werewolves, it’s been aggressive. So aggressive that he requires a full-time nurse.
If she isn’t here, Georgie’s at home with him. Or at the bar, drinking until she calls me because she can’t drive home.
She’s too young to have this much on her shoulders. It’s why I don’t hound her as much as I should about the drinking. Who am I to tell her she shouldn’t let loose every once in a while? Even if I feel like it’s too much.
“Okay,” I reply. I learned long ago that trying to force Georgie to accept help only leads to her shutting me out. No one holds a grudge—or takes a vow of silence—like Georgie.
“Here.” She shoves the cupcake box into my hands with jarring force, but I see the pain in her eyes. “Don’t fuck it up with Isabella. I like her.”
“Trust me, I won’t.”
I’ve pushed people away before, just like Georgie does. I know what it is to lose people. I know what it is to isolate.
But I won’t ruin this. I won’t lose Izzy.