Conall
The house is warm against the chill off the lake tonight.
We'd closed up the store, and I kept my eyes on the forest and the sky and the water and basically every inch of space around Ivy until we were back to her place.
A few things had followed, but nothing dared come close enough to harm her with me right there.
Laz was right. Other monsters can sense what I am. Being with her is the only way to guarantee that nothing else attempts to harm her. Watching from afar made her seem vulnerable. It left too many opportunities. She pulls off her light jacket and shoes the moment we’re through the door and sighs.
"I don't suppose you have delivery pizza on the island?"
I chuckle. "I'm afraid not. Sorry."
She clutches her stomach dramatically and leans against the counter. "Well, I don't know what you're expecting, but my cooking knowledge extends to ramen packets and peanut butter and jelly. No further."
I shake my head and move past her into the kitchen. Ivy smells of vanilla candles, chai, and something uniquely her. I do my best to keep from being a creep and burying my face in her neck. I open the fridge, and she gasps behind me.
I tense, eyes scanning the room for threats. "What?"
She points into the fridge. "Where did all of those groceries come from?" she asks, voice full of wonder.
I nearly slump with relief. "From the grocery store, of course." I start pulling out ingredients for dinner.
"You bought groceries?" The doubt in her tone chafes.
"I have to stay here until the spell is fixed. Did you really think I'd just scavenge your scraps?" Her cheeks flush, eyes bright. For a second, I wonder if she thinks I'm a burden or if she's just surprised I planned ahead. Either idea stings more than I want her to know.
"Hey, where does the food at the grocery store come from anyway?" she asks, changing the subject. "I haven't seen any big farms, and I saw bananas in there. I don't think you have banana trees here."
To keep from rolling my eyes, I focus on the ingredients.
"Monsters still live off-island. We have contacts with many of them.
We receive shipments out on the mainland and then haul them in on the ferry since other monsters haven't been able to set foot on the island.
We use money the same way the rest of the world does.
It's just printed here using Laz's spells. " I chop onions as she absorbs this.
"So you could get shipments of anything, just like anywhere else?" she asks.
My eyes slant sideways. Her lip is caught between her teeth, and the sight makes me want to pull it free with my thumb. Heat sneaks up my neck, and I have to look away, rearranging myself so she doesn't notice what her presence does to me.
"Yeah, Freckles. You have anything specific in mind?"
She doesn't answer.
Instead, she steps up to the counter beside me, her movement careful but purposeful. Her shoulder brushes mine, and I barely keep myself from leaning into it. I don't pull away, and neither does she. "Can I help with something?" she asks softly, her eyes on my hands as I chop.
"Thought you didn't cook."
She narrows her eyes at me, and it's cuter than it should be. "I can't, but I'm offering to help, so give me a task. One that doesn't involve cutting or heat."
"Something you can't screw up?"
"Preferably."
I sigh and pluck up the herbs I picked earlier in the day. "Pick the leaves off the stems for me."
She takes the stems from my outstretched hand and begins plucking the leaves, her movements slower and more careful than necessary.
I don't correct her. This feels like an olive branch, and I like having her next to me.
While she works, I glance at her. The furrow between her brows, the thinness of her fingers, and the wisps of hair escaping her curls all capture my attention.
"Have you thought about renaming the store?" I ask.
She cuts me a sharp look. "I don't know. Why?"
I pause in my chopping. "Because it's your store now. Shipton Shop doesn't really ring true since you're not a Shipton."
She goes back to plucking herbs, this time a bit sharper than before. "Why are you so hung up about the store?" she asks, not looking up.
The pan is on the stove now, with butter, onions, and garlic softening. Irritation rises in me, sharp and messy. "Why aren't you? You lost a business, and now you have a business. You could do anything you want with it. It could be your dream store, so why are you so uninterested?"
"Because I did have my dream store," she snaps, her voice faltering.
"It was exactly what I'd always wanted. I built it from the ground up.
Everything I had went into it." I push the pan off the stove and face her.
She still stares at the herbs, but her hands aren't moving.
She tilts her head up. Her eyes are glassy when they meet mine.
"Do you know what happened to that dream? It got taken and sold off by an ex who'd rather see it destroyed than leave anything for me to be happy about."
"Ivy, that's—"
"What?" she cuts me off. "Not going to happen?
Is that what you were going to say? You don't know that.
You keep saying I'll be allowed to stay on the island and that it'll work out, but in my experience, things don't. In fact, they go terribly wrong, and nothing even remotely good comes from it.
So no, I don't plan to change the shop name, buy new inventory, or redecorate.
Or do anything that will eventually get undone when I'm not allowed to keep it. "
She drops the herbs onto the counter and wipes her hands on a towel, muttering that she's not hungry anymore before heading up the stairs to the loft.
I stare after her. Part of me is rooted, turning everything she said over.
Another part aches to follow, to wipe away her tears, to wrap her in my arms. I want to assure her I would fight anyone who tried to take anything from her.
My hound growls inside me, wanting to be near her.
She's crying, and I don't know if going to her would help or hurt.
Not knowing? It's agony. And it’s something I'll do anything to fix.