NICK
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Watching Izzy enjoy my cooking is much better than eating it.
The way she closes her eyes and moans with every bite is a symphony for the senses. Almost voyeuristic.
It gives me ideas of all the other things I’d love to watch her do.
With each passing moment, the tension mounts in the room until I swear it’s a tangible thing. Something I could grab and tug on like I want to do to her hair. I don’t know if she senses it the same way I do, or what it feels like for her.
With a wink, she takes a dainty sip of her wine.
She’s doing this on purpose, isn’t she? Fine, if she wants to play games, then I’ll drag this out as long as possible.
“You haven’t told me where you grew up,” I remark, slowing down the rate of my knife and fork. “Or where you live.”
She swallows, clearly surprised at the question. “I grew up in Issaquah, a few hours south of here. But I guess I currently live in Seattle.”
“I’ve only been down to Seattle once.” I lean back in my chair, watching the candlelight flicker in her eyes. “Do you enjoy living there?”
Are you anxious to go back?
She lifts one shoulder, causing the dress to shift and strain against her breasts. “I guess? It’s never really felt like home. Neither place did, actually.”
Hope ignites in my chest like a flame. If she’s never found her home, maybe that’s because it’s here with me.
“Anyway, I’m happy I’m here,” she continues after a beat. “I’m happy I answered that email. Happy I took the job. I’m happy I met Georgie…and I’m happy I met you.”
The flame of hope burns into an inferno. I rub my chest to make sure it’s not hot to the touch. “I’m happy I met you, too, Izzy.”
A light blush dusts the tops of her high cheekbones as her eyes dart down to her empty plate. “This was delicious, Nick. I don’t think anyone has ever made me dinner before.”
My chest rumbles with a growl at the thought of her on a date with anyone else. I have no right to be jealous of a time before she met me—and logically I’m not—but still. “I’m happy to be your first.”
Her blush lights up the rest of her face and neck.
Interesting.
Was it something I said? The thinly veiled innuendo? Izzy likes to tease a little, but it seems she’s not as comfortable with being pursued.
She’ll revel in it, eventually.
I take her plate to the sink to be dealt with later. Tomorrow, hopefully. “Would you like dessert?”
“Mm, in a bit,” she says, standing. Her fingers trail along the grooves in the raw wood dining table.
“I’ll refill our wine. If you’d like to sit on the couch, I can start a fire.” It’s in this moment that I realize how sparse my home is of actual decoration.
Renovating this house is what eventually got me moving again.
Moving past the devastation and putting that pain into something physical.
Healthy. I almost destroyed every single room until I got chastised by some in the neighborhood for not just building something from scratch.
But this home? This is my family home. I could never sell it.
But in my meticulous overhaul, I never decorated. I never cared about that as much.
As Izzy sits, I wish there were a soft pillow for her back and a multitude of warm blankets to choose from. I wish I were more prepared.
I think part of me gave up on the entire notion of having someone like her to entertain. Or that I would ever find her.
“What’s wrong?” she asks softly, curling up on my couch despite the lack of comfort, making herself at home.
I shake my head. “I don’t have pillows.”
Her wind-chime laughter brings a smile to my face despite everything. “I’ll grab some from Clover’s for you.”
That earlier spark of hope flares back to life. They might be off-the-cuff remarks for her, but I tuck each one into my heart. Little words that imply she’s thinking about staying.
My feet carry me to her side, and I sit on the plush cream couch, wine glasses in hand. Fire forgotten.
“Tell me more about your home. Does your family still live in Issaquah?” I want to know every single thing about her. I want to carry every piece of who she is with me.
Her brows knit together, but she settles into the couch. “Yeah, my parents are back there. I’m an only child, so it was just the three of us.”
Her words from last night play in my head. How they made her feel like she was never enough. I put my hand on her knee and squeeze lightly, hoping she knows I remember.
She clears her throat and takes another sip of wine. “When did you buy the house?”
“I didn’t. I inherited it when my parents passed.” I pat the back of the couch with a fond smile. “House I grew up in.”
Her head tilts, soft smile growing. “I love that you kept it. You must have so many beautiful memories here.”
“I do. I can still smell my mother’s cooking in the walls sometimes. Makes me feel safer than anywhere else.”
She scootches closer, placing her wine on the table next to us. “That’s beautiful.”
“I’ve thought about it, and if my future wife ever wanted to leave, I could. I could go somewhere else if that’s what we really wanted. But for now, I can’t imagine being anywhere else.”
And I mean it. If Izzy wanted to leave this house and start fresh, or leave Lunamois, I’d follow her wherever she goes.
“Your…” she trails off as I place my hand on the back of her neck, thumb sliding to rest over her pulse point.
“My?” I grin, pride growing as her eyelashes flutter.
“Your future wife is going to be very lucky.” Her throat works around a swallow, a light blush flushing her cheeks.
“I’ll fucking see to it.”
Her breathing picks up as I stroke her skin. “Nick.”
“Mm?” My other hand travels up past her knee to caress her thigh. Little goosebumps emerge under my touch.
“Don’t make me wait anymore,” she says, voice breathy and soft.
“What is it you want, Izzy? I’ll give you anything you want, anything you need.”
“You.” She strokes my cheek. “Kiss me.”