47. Nick
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
NICK
The following week is routine in a way that allows me to settle into my comfort zone. The reality of what our life will look like if she agrees to stay with me after the anniversary event…which is only one day away.
Every day she brings something new to decorate my—our—home with. New drapes, new blankets, new placemats, new pillows, even a few empty photo frames she places on the mantle above the fireplace.
Frames I expect to fill with the moments of our lives.
She works on her computer in the mornings and then goes out into the community after lunch. She comes home just before dinner. She puts her purse in the same spot.
It’s a familiarity and a routine that I relish.
And yet, the weight of her being my mate sits on my shoulders. I promised myself I would tell her after our first full moon, but I couldn’t force out the words.
I want her to know. I want to press my teeth to the slight curve of her neck and feel our bond snap into place.
I tell myself I want to know what she’ll do after the event is over. I tell myself I want her to choose to stay here without the bond hanging over her.
But it’s all bullshit. Despite everything, I’m still scared to death I’m going to lose her, and that holds my tongue every single time I try to tell her.
On Friday, despite knowing I’ve finished my part for the event, I make my way over to the park to give everything a once-over. I’ve spent most of this week ensuring the electrical works, finalizing the booths, and handling any heavy lifting Izzy needed.
It doesn’t hurt that she enjoys watching me lift things. Her scent blooms hot and heavy over me as she bosses me around. And like her obedient dog, I obey.
I walk through the park, weaving my way around the booths, and smile to myself. She’s worked so damn hard on this, and it’s obvious. Her love and attention bleed from every meticulously planned detail.
Isabella Gregory has a talent for event planning. A talent for organization. A talent for showing her affection through acts of service to a town she still barely knows.
I wonder if she even realizes it. Probably not, if the way she nervously deflects every single compliment I’ve tried to give her this week is any indication.
The only time she soaks in my compliments is when she’s naked in my bed. Laid out and vulnerable and willing to accept that maybe she isn’t the failure life has made her believe she is.
She’s incredible.
At the park, I can’t find any flaws or little things that need fixing, so I make my way home. The fall air nips at me, promising a cold winter this year. Maybe I’ll make Izzy a thick, warm soup tonight. Something to fill her belly with the coziness she’s filled my home with.
Once I get inside, I make my way to the kitchen and pull out ingredients to make dinner for me and Izzy, the love of my life.
And just like always, my mind wanders to the fact that Izzy hasn’t explicitly stated that she wants to stay in Lunamois. Sure, she’s made little comments. Filled my home with things that she knew would only remind me of her if she ever left.
But nothing definitive.
We’re in a stalemate.
“I finally feel like I have my shit together!” she announces as she blows into my home the same way she blew into my life.
I smile to myself, taking a deep breath of the woman who owns me so wholly and completely. “You’ve always had it together.”
She glares at me while hanging her coat right next to mine. “I am many things, Nicholas, but ‘together’ isn’t one of them.”
“Nicholas, huh?” I open my arms for her, and she snuggles herself deep in my chest. “I must be in trouble.”
“Never,” she mumbles into me.
I rub the back of her neck, just to feel her fully relax. She works hard, and I want to be the soft place she lands.
“Dinner smells delicious,” she says as she pulls back, forest-canopy green eyes threatening to drown me.
“You smell delicious,” I counter, kissing her pouty lips. “Sit down. Let me take care of you.”
She pops out her hip, placing a delicate hand there. “You always take care of me. You make dinner every single night.”
I turn her around, gently leading her to the chair I’ve mentally labeled as hers. “And I enjoy it. So let me.”
She sits down, and I plan a night of extra pampering as I ladle out our soup. She has a big day tomorrow.
We both do.