Chapter 43
Magnus
I’m going to wear out my pants at this rate.
I look around again for a rag, but can’t find one. Usually I have plenty hanging around the greenhouse, but the one time I really need a handkerchief, they’ve all disappeared.
Maybe Pete moved them. He drags them off sometimes to make nests, even though I give him nicer cloths for that.
I resort to rubbing my sweaty hands on my pant legs for what feels like the tenth time in as many minutes.
I don’t think I’ve ever been this nervous before, even when scaling cliffs or coming face to face with a bear and her cubs.
Actually, there was one other time I was anxious, when Hestia was stuck in that hole with a panicking alpha.
This isn’t even a date, but it is the first time we’ll be alone together since we started dating.
Since she kissed me.
I’m still afraid I’m too much for her. Too big, too rough, too much.
Hestia didn’t seem to mind that during her heat, but what about the rest of the time?
I never quite fit in with my family, not content to live that isolated. Except when I left, I never fit in in the city either. Even smaller towns are too overwhelming, too crowded for me to be comfortable.
Will Hestia decide one day that I’m too much, not quite good enough?
Is she already having second thoughts?
“What’s that?”
I jump at Hestia’s sudden question and almost knock over the bench. I didn’t even hear her come in.
She tilts her head, and I realize she’s waiting for an answer while I stare at her with a stupid smile on my face.
“What?” I ask dumbly, because I’ve already forgotten what she asked. Seeing her wiped everything else from my mind.
“What are those plants?” she asks again, pointing.
“Oh right, those,” I say.
I have her sit next to me before I explain, “These are icicle pansies I started from seed recently, and they’re big enough now to be repotted. I grow them every year so Henri can make a special Yule dish from the flowers. I thought you might want to help watch over them for the next few weeks.”
“I didn’t know pansies were edible,” Hestia says, leaning closer to admire the little green sprouts, which also brings her closer to me.
When her hand brushes my thigh, I have to bite my tongue to restrain myself.
“I’d love to help take care of them with you. How big will they get?”
Her hand is still on my leg.
Does she notice where all my blood has rushed to?
“They’ll be ten inches at full height,” I say, voice rough.
“Really? That’s huge!”
I close my eyes.
That’s not even as long as I am.
I don’t know if it’s because she’s touching me while reminding me about how large I am that’s turning my anxiety to horniness, but this isn’t the solution I was looking for.
Thankfully Hestia removes her hand, and I slide forward to hide my lower half under the table while ostensibly reaching for the new pots.
I show her the soil mixture we’ll need to make, and we work in companionable silence while I calm myself down.
It’s easier to just be with Hestia than I thought it would be.
I’ve never been good at the dating thing and rarely went on solo dates. Most of my experience comes from joining my packmates on group dates the last time our pack was open.
I enjoy doing everything with Hestia, even the mundane things, so I shouldn’t be surprised it still feels natural being around her now that we’re dating.
We soon get the plants transferred to their new pots and watered in.
I go to pick up one of the trays and accidentally knock into Hestia’s hand as we reach across each other.
“I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you?” I say, already carefully checking her over.
“I’m fine, you barely grazed me. It was my fault anyway,” she says.
“I could have really hurt you. I’m too big, I need to take more care than a normal alpha,” I murmur without thinking, holding her hand up to the light to make sure I didn’t overlook a scratch or bruise.
Her skin is smooth and unblemished, faded tan still hanging on from long days in the summer sun.
“I thought I only had to worry about Orion overthinking things. Looks like I’ll have to keep an eye on you too,” she says, wrapping her other hand around mine.
“I could easily injure you if I’m not paying attention,” I say.
Hestia rolls her eyes. “Magnus. All of you are bigger than me, you’re alphas. I know you’re on the upper end of the alpha scale, but we still fit together just fine. I don’t want you to stress about being close to me. You’ve never accidentally hurt me, and I’m not scared you’re going to.”
“But I might,” I say almost petulantly.
I struggle to take in her words. It’s a risk being with me…
Isn’t it?
I can’t think of a time when I injured someone. I can so clearly picture people flinching away, being scared or nervous when they see me. But none of those memories involve harming anyone.
Is it possible I’m not actually an inconvenience? A terror?
Reframing my self-image won’t be that simple, but I tentatively accept that what Hestia said is true. That she, at least, isn’t bothered by my size.
Hestia rubs my arm comfortingly. “You’re caring and respectful. Let yourself relax a little, and you’ll see you’re not hurting anyone. You don’t need to keep yourself on such a tight leash.”
Each word hits me in the chest, and I let out an unsteady exhale.
“You might be right. Besides, being leashed sounds more like Orion’s thing anyway,” I say.
That startles a laugh out of her.
“Well, being on a leash occasionally sounds fun,” she says, blushing.
I think I might be getting better at flirting.
We move the pansies under grow lights without further incident.
“Thanks for helping. I hope you enjoyed it, even if it’s not the most exciting activity,” I say, racking my brain for a way to continue our not-date.
I should have brought snacks, or at least coffee. We could have had a picnic.
“It was fun! I’m glad you asked me to help. Thanks for letting me in on your pack tradition, it was very sweet of you,” she says.
I catch movement out of the corner of my eye and turn just in time to see a bag of potting soil tip over. It knocks over the rakes piled in the corner, and they crash to the ground.
Hestia squeals, startled by the sudden commotion behind her, and jumps into my arms. I quickly spin her away from the mess.
“Are you alright?” I ask, stroking her hair.
Her face is buried in my neck, scent tinged with that tart fruit smell.
“I think so,” she murmurs against my skin.
“Everything’s okay. Something on the shelf fell and knocked things over. Nothing to worry about,” I say, my chest rumbling a purr.
I’m in no hurry to let her go, and Hestia’s legs are tight around my waist, so I keep hold of her as I step over the rakes.
I intended to adjust the shelf before anything else falls, but when I get there, I find Pete with his hand on the bag of soil that started the chain reaction.
“Pete Moss! Be careful when you move things around. You could have really hurt yourself or us,” I say.
He blinks, but doesn’t seem apologetic.
“If you keep creating messes like this, I’ll have to spend all my time cleaning and won’t have time to make treats for you.
You need to think about your actions and how they affect others.
If you wanted me to move this, you could have gotten my attention in a less destructive way,” I gently scold him.
Pete finally removes his hand, and I push the bag back so he can walk past to get to the basket he likes to sit in. I should have paid more attention earlier when I set the bag down.
Now that the way is clear, he climbs into the basket and kicks the loose twine around until he’s nestled in it.
I give him a Pete Treat and apologize for putting the bag in his way, which he readily accepts.
I slowly and carefully stack the tools back in the corner. When I’m done, I have no more excuses to keep holding Hestia. Regretfully, I lower her back to the ground, but she leans against me, so I get to keep an arm around her.
“What moss were you talking about?” Hestia asks, blinking and looking around.
I’m confused for a moment until I remember what I said.
“That’s Pete’s full name. I borrowed it from that series the others like to read, you know, the Big Tex one. Pete Moss is his sidekick in some of the books. I just shorten his name to Pete most of the time,” I say.
“That’s the perfect name for a frog,” she says, grinning.
“I agree. Cato wanted to name him Slayer or Venom since he took down the pests we’d been struggling with for months practically overnight. I thought he looked more like a Pete though,” I say.
Hestia’s laughter is infectious, I feel lighter just listening to it.
“Do you want to get a snack?” I blurt out.
“Sure,” she says, smiling at me.
I put my hand on her back, too late realizing I’m dirty.
“I’m sorry, I think I got some dirt on you. Maybe we should take a break to clean up and meet back in the kitchen,” I say, snatching my hand back.
And I still can’t find any rags to clean her off with. Now that I’m looking, I left handprints all over her ass when she jumped on me.
“I don’t mind being dirty with you,” Hestia says, giggling at me.
That short-circuits my already sluggish brain after staring at her ass.
“Let’s clean up together,” she says, grabbing my arm and pulling me into the house.