I fell asleep before I could tell him he was wrong.
SIX
HAWTHORN
My wolf wouldn't stop niggling me about Zale.
All morning, while I kneaded dough and shaped loaves, he'd been pacing and whining, telling me to check on Zale and make sure he was okay. It was six-thirty and I'd already been working for hours, but all I could think about was the omega sleeping upstairs.
This was ridiculous. He had a cold, not the plague. He'd be fine without me hovering. But when Mrs. Trent commented that I was distracted and I handed Benjamin the wrong pastry, I gave up pretending I could focus.
I climbed the stairs with water and more pills telling myself this was about being a responsible employer. That was it. But deep down, I knew this was more than employer concern.
The apartment was quiet. Through the bedroom doorway, I could see Zale sprawled across my bed, his face flushed with fever. My wolf surged forward, wanting to climb in beside him and keep him safe.
I set the pills on the nightstand and forced myself to leave before I did something silly like stroke his brow.
Relationships weren't for me. I'd learned that lesson three times over. The bakery came first, always. No one could handle the hours and the exhaustion. Zale was just passing through town anyway. He'd said so himself.
I repeated this to myself all morning but it didn't help.
By noon, I couldn't stay away any longer. Putting a sign on the door, saying I’d be back soon, I headed upstairs and made toast with honey because it’d be easy on the stomach.
Zale was awake this time, wrapped in a blanket on the couch, looking rumpled and far too appealing for someone who was sick. He'd changed into sweats.
"Hey." He smiled when he saw me. "I was wondering when you'd come check on me."
"You need to eat." I set down the plate, acutely aware of how domestic this was and how right it felt having him in my space. These thoughts that kept popping into my head were unsettling though my wolf approved of Zale being in my apartment.
I sat in the armchair—not the couch beside him—and watched him eat. We talked about my grandmother, the bakery, the summers I spent here growing up and the promise I'd made to keep the bakery alive.
"She would have liked you." I immediately wished I could take that back because it was too revealing.
But Zale just smiled, and something stirred inside me.
He asked about his family and hearing about some other alpha trying to claim him had my wolf snarl possessively which was silly. He wasn't mine.
I fled downstairs again because I was torn between getting as far away as possible and crawling under the blankets with him.
The afternoon dragged on. I imagined Zale in my apartment, surrounded by my scent. My wolf kept pushing at me to go to him but I shoved the instinct down. That wasn’t sensible.He worked for me and was figuring out his life. I didn't do relationships anymore. That was my rule.
When I finally closed the bakery and locked the door behind me, I made a quick trip to the store. When I walked into the apartment with an armload of groceries, Zale was awake.
His eyes widened. "What's all that?"
"Dinner." I busied myself at the counter, not trusting myself to look at him. "You need real food."
He wanted to help but I told him he was still recovering, though he looked much better and no longer had a fever.
"Please?" His voice had that worn, recovering rasp. "I need to feel useful."
I couldn't say no to that.
We worked side by side in my tiny kitchen, and every accidental touch sent heat racing through me. His scent was muted thanks to his illness but it was still intoxicating. My wolf was content in a way he rarely was, happy to have Zale in our home.
Our home. When did I start thinking of it as ours? It was mine and my wolf’s yes, but it’d been Zale I was thinking of.
"This is nice," he told me. "Cooking with someone."
