Chapter Seventeen
At first, Vi thought she’d imagined Nick’s anxiety.
He seemed normal enough as they arrived at the barbecue, laughing loudly and talking to everyone, introducing Vi with a rotating list of titles: sober companion, journalist writing a Where Are They Now story about high school dropouts, a policewoman assigned to tail him after he tried to flee town during a murder trial.
All his jokes were weirdly self-deprecating.
Vi hadn’t noticed that was a habit until she watched him introduce Vi as the woman Duncan hired to keep me from ruining the barbecue.
He started talking less. Getting Vi to pick up the slack. Then, as soon as the last of their tiny potato salad had been doled out, he vanished. Vi looked for a full two minutes before she found him hiding on the empty front porch with Chicha the Doberman.
“What’s with you?” she asked.
Nick jumped up, cursing. “Jesus! Wear a bell!”
He stroked Chicha, who had startled at the sudden movement. “I’m not . . . great at this,” he admitted. “Okay? I’m kind of a loner.”
Vi frowned. “What are you talking about? You’re Nick Wicker. You’re all . . . you know. Charming.”
She waited for him to bat his eyelashes and say something like, You think I’m charming? But he just laughed, surprisingly stiff, and kept petting Chicha’s soft fur.
Vi thought back to the few parties she’d seen him at. He’d always seemed his usual suave self. Though, now that she thought about it, she’d only ever seen him for a short amount of time before he vanished. She assumed he was getting into trouble somewhere. But maybe he was just petting a dog.
She thought about his house—no photos except for the one family photo of him and his mom on his bedside table.
About his schedule, which until very recently was full of work and not much else.
And she thought of herself, someone who everybody expected to have a million friends because she was always talking to people.
Vi never wanted to correct them and say that, while she was always talking to people, she rarely made plans with them unless it was to walk their dog or water their plants.
That the only people she called when she got lonely were her sister or her mom, who usually had bigger things going on for Vi to get invested in, keeping her from thinking about how lonely she was.
Vi cleared her throat. “You run a book club,” she pointed out. “And Emma said you wanted to make the quiz night a regular thing.”
“Yeah, but I have, like, a role. So . . .” Nick petted Chicha some more.
His shoulders were hunched. He wanted to change the subject, and for a second, Vi was tempted to let him.
Go along with whatever next thing came out of his mouth.
Then she thought about all those times her sister had dragged some embarrassing truth out of her, and how grateful Vi had been after the mortification faded.
She sat down next to him, tucking her skirt under her legs.
“Only way to get better is by doing it,” she reminded him, running a hand down Chicha’s smooth flank. “You don’t go to Cozy Grotto with the book club after, right?”
“Nope,” Nick said, eyes on Chicha as they petted her. “They just spent two hours with me. Doubt they’d want to lock in more Nick time.”
He gave her a grin, like she was in on the joke.
Like she’d laugh along with him. Five weeks ago, Vi would have.
But five weeks ago, Nick hadn’t brought her apology brownies, hadn’t knelt on a hospital floor with his hands nowhere near his heart, hadn’t untied her hair ribbon and admitted he’d always wanted to do that.
Hadn’t kissed her or undone her skirt or made her come.
“You could give them a chance,” Vi said.
Her hand veered dangerously close to his in Chicha’s fur.
“When I feel nervous at parties, I usually find something I can help with. Dishes or food or taking care of someone’s kids.
I usually end up in a conversation with whomever else is helping, and it eases me back into it. ”
Nick stared at her with the expression she’d learned to mean, I’m going to make fun of you; don’t get mad at me.
She narrowed her eyes. “What?”
“Nothing,” he said instantly. “It’s just . . . very you. Vi, holy shit. You feel awkward at a party and you go and do the dishes?”
“It’s easier with adult parties,” she insisted.
Nick burst out laughing. He folded over with the force of it, pressing his forehead into an alarmed Chicha’s ribs.
“It’s okay,” he crooned as he straightened. He kissed her furry muzzle, then stood. “Jesus. Alright. Let’s go find some dishes.”
He offered her a hand. She rolled her eyes and took it.
“It doesn’t have to be—”
“Nope, we’re doing dishes,” he declared. He flung a hand in the air like a cartoon explorer Vi vaguely remembered watching as a kid. “Onward!”
* * *
The kitchen was empty. Dishes lined the counter, covered in crumbs and seaweed and mustard.
“Last time I was here, they used plastic plates,” Nick said. “Looks like they went eco. Great for the environment. And for us, my fellow dish fiend.”
“Dish fiend,” Vi repeated, absurdly pleased.
Something curled inside her chest, warm and excited.
Nick often made her feel like this—like he was inviting her on an adventure.
Although it mostly happened before they got naked.
This was the first time it had happened when they weren’t about to have sex.
“You seek out dishes,” Nick pointed out. “Hence, dish fiend.”
He found the dish soap. She found the drying rack. They started on the dishes, him on washing, her drying.
“Can’t believe you voluntarily do this shit,” Nick said, scrubbing a particularly stubborn patch of grease from a plate. “You know this is why people ask you for help all the time, right? You’re an easy target. Have you said no to anything lately?”
“I don’t have to,” Vi reminded him. “You’re there to scoop whatever it is from under me.”
“For purely selfish reasons, I promise,” Nick said, too fast. He nudged her teasingly, and Vi’s arm tingled where he had touched her. “Seriously, though. You gotta get on that. I shouldn’t need to butt in. You can just say no!”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you’re busy! Because you don’t want to!”
“But they asked,” Vi tried.
“So? You have shit to do, too! You need me time.”
“I’ve had more me time than I know what to do with lately,” Vi said. She looked around the empty kitchen and then whispered, “It’s not even fun me time with you. I ended up watching a really boring movie the other night.”
Nick narrowed his eyes at her. At first, she thought he was going to scold her some more. Then he put on a falsetto. “Oh, Vi, my shed is so cluttered and I don’t have time to take all that stuff to the dump. Can you help me?”
Vi snorted. “Don’t do this again.”
He ignored her, clasping his soapy hands under his chin. “It’s out of control! You need to help me! Take my shed crap to the dump, Vi!”
Vi giggled, swatting him with a dish towel. “Stop it.”
“Not until you say no.” He batted his long eyelashes. “But Vi, I’m drowning in my horrible shed crap! You have to help me!”
“No!”
He stopped, blinking hard. Then he broke into a grin, so bright and blazing Vi’s breath caught in her chest. “There we go! I’m proud of you. Now you just need to start doing that in real life, and we’re set.”
Helpless to do anything else, Vi smiled back. She could feel her cheeks flushing, stupidly charmed by Nick’s teasing. How could she have ever thought he was being cruel?
A chilly breeze wafted through the window, and Vi shivered, tugging her jacket tighter.
Nick looked up at the window with a frown, then closed it.
“Thanks.” Vi looked out the window over the bustling backyard. “This wouldn’t be barbecue weather back home. Massachusetts got cold, but not this cold.”
Nick grinned. “Alaskan weather is something else. I’m used to it, and I still complain. Can’t imagine how whiny I’d be if I didn’t grow up here. Do you miss home?”
“Sometimes. My mom’s there.” She paused, wondering if she was going to get a weird laugh and a hasty subject change. “Where are your parents?”
“Dad left a long time ago,” he replied instantly. Then in a much softer, reluctant tone, he continued, “Mom, uh, she passed. A while ago.”
“Oh,” Vi said, taken aback. She didn’t know many people their age with deceased parents. “I’m sorry.”
Nick shrugged, gaze firmly on the mug he was scrubbing. Vi thought back to his bedside dresser, that lone photograph of a young Nick on a motorcycle track with his mom.
They had the same eyes, hair, mouth. Even their fangs were the same shape, larger and blunter than most other orcs.
Vi watched the tense line of Nick’s shoulders. He didn’t want to talk about it; that much was obvious. But she didn’t want to move on without saying anything.
“My dad left, too,” she offered. “Grade school.”
Nick whooped, shockingly loud. “High five for shitty dads.”
He raised his soapy hand for a high five. Looking for a way out, she realized.
Vi tapped it. Some of the stress eased out of his face.
“I can’t help but notice,” he said as he handed her the next plate, “there’s not a lot of socializing opportunities—”
Before he could finish that sentence, Luna Musgrove walked in, bundled up in thick layers as she always did whenever her werewolf husband wasn’t within touching distance to warm her up.
Her eyes lit up as she spotted Vi and Nick at the sink. “Oh, that’s so cute! You’re like . . . little dish helpers.”
“We love to help,” Nick said, far too brightly. He shot a grin at Vi, who had to resist the urge to step on his foot.
“So I’ve heard,” Luna said, sounding oddly smug. She trained her knowing gaze on Vi, who felt inexplicably called out. Vi turned back to the drying rack, wiping a glass that didn’t need more drying.
“Nick,” Luna said in a singsong voice, “you’re big and strong. Go break off more ice chips, would you? If you looove helping so much.”