23. Willa #2
Krem spread papers across the kitchen table. “Erika Collins from the school wants to add a second visit. Week four instead of week eight. That changes all our planning. Every piece of it.”
“It changes the schedule,” Traig said. “Not the whole plan. Let me show you.”
They bent over the papers, debating creature rotation and parent communication and whether two visits were better than one or just twice the work.
I started dinner while they argued. Mac and cheese. The boxed kind, because I was tired, and it was easy.
By the time the water boiled, Krem had won half his points and Traig had won the other half, and they were both looking satisfied with what they’d come up with.
“What are you making?” Krem asked, watching me stir the pasta.
“Human food,” I said. “Mac and cheese.”
His head tilted. “What’s mac and cheese?”
“Pasta with cheese sauce.”
“That sounds…strange.”
“It’s delicious. You should stay for dinner.”
He glanced at Traig, who nodded.
“If you’re offering,” Krem said.
I always made extra.
He left to grab a third chair from Drogar’s place.
When I served it, along with kielbasa and vegetables, Krem stared at his plate as if I’d handed him something alive.
“Just try it,” I said.
He took a small bite. Chewed slowly. His eyes bugged out.
“This is amazing.” He took another bite. “This is the mac-and-cheese?”
“Yup. Cheap stuff but it’s satisfying.”
He ate three servings.
Greth appeared in the doorway while we were cleaning up, standing in the opening, watching us.
I held out the open cookie container.
He studied me for a long moment. Then he took two. He turned but paused in the doorway.
“Good,” he said.
Then he left.
“What just happened?” I asked.
Traig’s mouth twitched. “He gave you two cookies’ worth of approval.”
“Is that more than one cookie of approval?”
“Significantly more. He likes you.”
“Cookies are the bar?”
“For Greth? Yes.”
I laughed and put the container back on the counter.
The cottage had filled with people today, and it felt right. We’d built something here that wasn’t just the two of us pretending until the Council decided our fate.
But the month was almost up.
It had been three weeks since the scribe left. The Council’s decision would arrive soon.
I’d been marking off days in my head while I baked cookies and reorganized drawers and learned the exact way Traig liked his things. I’d told myself not to do the math, but I did it anyway.
Seven days left. Maybe less if they decided early.
Dread sat on my chest like a boulder. I could ignore it during the day when I was at work, or the cottage was full of people and creatures and noise. But at night, when it was just Traig and me, it crept back in.
What if the Council made Traig return to the kingdom?
I pushed the thought away and focused on drying the dishes.
“You’re quiet,” he said.
Three weeks had passed in a blur of learning how to build a life with someone. And now we were running out of time. I’d done my best not to let myself think about it during the day. But at night, alone with just the two of us, the fear crept back in.
What if the Council decided we weren’t enough? They might take him anyway, marks or no marks.
“I’m thinking,” I said.
“About what?”
“Nothing important.”
“Liar,” he said softly.
My chest locked tight.
He turned me toward him, his wet hands framing my face.
“Tell me,” he said.
“We don’t have much time left.” I could barely speak. “I keep telling myself not to worry, but I can’t stop. The Council will decide soon, and I’m scared. I’m standing in the middle of everything I’ve ever wanted, and I can’t look directly at it because it could soon disappear.”
His forehead dropped to mine.
“It’s not disappearing,” he said.
“It could.”
“It won’t.” His hands tightened on my face. “Whatever the Council says or my parents decide, I’m yours. The mark says so. I say so. That doesn’t change.”
“But what if they take you?”
“Then I’ll find my way back to you.”
I pulled back enough to see his face. “When did you last do something for me without me having to earn it?”
His brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“I’m really good at all this.” I gestured vaguely at the kitchen.
“But when did you last do something for me, and I didn’t think I had to deserve it?
I don’t have a decent answer, and that’s the problem.
I’m so used to making myself useful that I don’t know how to sit back and let someone care for me. ”
His hands slid from my face to my shoulders, then down my arms.
“You bake because you want to,” he said. “Not because you have to. Right?”
I nodded.
“And you reorganized my life because it makes more sense your way.”
“Yes.”
“That’s not earning anything.”
“Isn’t it though?” I could barely get the words out. “I bake cookies so you and your brothers will keep wanting me around. I reorganize things so I’m useful. That’s what I do. That’s what I’ve always done.”
His hands tightened on my arms. “Do you truly think I only want you here because you make cookies?”
“No. Maybe. I don’t know. What happens when the cookies aren’t enough or I stop being useful?”
“I see more than what you do for me. You, Willa. All your quirks and kindness. The gentleness you show Amanda and Fred. Nix. Even me.” His gaze held mine. “This is all part of living a life together.”
The words settled in my chest.
“I do things for you because you’re all I can think about,” he said. “I believe you do the same for me.”
I nodded, my eyes stinging.
“I want you to have everything good because I care, not because you’ve earned it with cookies or organizing my spices. My feelings are not conditional.”
My vision blurred.
“You don’t have to earn being loved, Willa. You just have to let me and our friends show you we care.”
The tears spilled over.
He pulled me into his chest, his arms wrapping around me.
I pressed my face into his shirt and let myself fall apart in the safety of our kitchen.
When I finally pulled back, Traig’s shirt was damp and his eyes were bright.
“Sorry,” I said.
“Don’t be.”
He kissed my forehead. The corner of my mouth.
“I need to check the fence before it gets too dark,” he said. “Come with me?”
I nodded.
We walked the fence line together, Traig looking for damage while I strode beside him, watching the way the setting sun caught the silver of his mating mark.
Sunsets looked different when you knew you might not see many more of them.
We finished and headed back to the cottage, Fred bobbing along with us, Amanda half-asleep on his back.
The sun had fully set by the time we stepped inside.
Traig locked the door behind us.
Fred took Amanda to their bed and settled, his eyes sliding shut.
I turned to ask Traig if he wanted tea, but he was already tugging me close, his hands settling on my waist. His eyes were full of want I recognized because it matched mine.
For three weeks we’d been careful. Gentle.
Like we were both afraid of wanting too much, of holding too tight in case we had to let go.
We hadn’t been intimate, wanting to give us a chance to get to know each other first without adding that complication.
Not that I didn’t feel fully committed to him.
I did. But when relationships turned physical, it could change.
I was done being careful. Done with holding myself back.
He kissed me.
His hands tightened on my waist. I grabbed his shirt, holding on while he walked me backward until my shoulders hit the wall.
This kiss was different from the ones we’d shared over the past few weeks. Those had been gentle, tentative, both of us afraid of breaking something fragile.
This one was anything but gentle.
I pulled back enough to speak against his mouth. “I want you.”
His breath caught.
“All of you,” I said. “I need you. I want to make memories in case…”
“I understand.” He studied my face. “I’m yours. You know that, right?”
I nodded, my eyes stinging.
“I want you too,” he said, his voice rough. “I’ve wanted you since the moment we met. I always will.”
I pulled him down by his shirt. “Stop talking and take me to bed.”
His laugh was half-groan. “Yes.”
He lifted me. I wrapped my legs around him, and he carried me down the hall toward the bedroom.