"Hey," she says, cautious but friendly. Friendlier than three weeks ago, at least.
"Hey, yourself." I gesture to the bag. "Please tell me you brought pad thai."
"And spring rolls." She sets the bag on the coffee table, her gaze flicking between Nick and me. "You two need anything else?"
Nick stands, his hand lingering on my shoulder. "We're good. Thank you."
Ella's been coming around more since Nick reappeared. She doesn't know what he is. I haven't exactly sat her down for the 'so, my boyfriend is Santa' talk. Mostly because I'm still wrapping my own head around it. But she sees the way he looks at me. The way he touches me. The way he'd probably set the world on fire if someone so much as gave me a dirty look.
She's softening. I can tell because she doesn't glare at him quite as hard these days. But there's still that edge, the wariness of someone who watched me ugly-cry for months and isn't about to let him off the hook just because he finally showed up again.
"You left," she told him last week, cornering him in the bakery while I was in the bathroom. "You left her alone and pregnant, and I don't care what your reasons were. If you do it again, I'll make you regret it."
I didn't catch what he said, but when I came back, Ella looked slightly less like she was plotting his demise. Progress, I guess.
Now, she unpacks the food, chatting about her day, about the holiday rush at her business. Nick listens, polite and engaged, but I can feel his attention on me. Always on me.
The baby shifts again, delivering a jab to my ribs that makes me wince. Future kickboxer, apparently.
"You sure you're okay?" Ella asks, pausing mid-sentence.
"Yeah. She's just active today."
Nick's hand finds my belly immediately, his palm warm through my shirt. The baby responds with a kick, and I watch his expression soften.
"She knows you're here," I say quietly.
"She knows we both are." His thumb strokes a gentle arc over where the baby's pressing. "She's safe."
The way he says it, like a promise carved in stone, makes my throat go tight.
Ella watches us for a moment, something unreadable in her eyes. Then she clears her throat. "Right. Well, I'll leave you two to your dinner. Call me if you need anything, okay?"
"I will."
She gives Nick one last look, the kind that says I'm watching you, then heads for the door. "Lock up behind me," she calls over her shoulder.
Nick's already moving to do exactly that, flipping the deadbolt and checking the wards I can't see but know are there. He's been reinforcing them daily, layering protection over protection until the apartment practically hums with magic.
"She's protective of you," he says, coming back to the couch.
"We knew we were kindreds the moment I showed up in Caraway Cove. She's seen me through a lot."
"Including my mess."
I reach for his hand, lacing our fingers together. "You're fixing your mess. That's what matters."
He lifts my hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. The gesture is so sweet that it makes my chest ache.
We eat dinner curled up on the couch, Nick watching me like a hawk to make sure I finish every bite, even though there's barely room left in my stomach for air. The baby's settled a little, but there's still that restless energy, like the air before a thunderstorm.
By the time we head to bed, I'm exhausted. The kind of tired that settles in your bones and refuses to budge. Nick helps me into my nightgown, his hands gentle, then tucks me in like I'm made of spun sugar.
He slides in behind me, warm and solid, his arm coming around my belly, hand splayed wide over where the baby is camped out.
"Sleep," he whispers, his breath a gentle caress against my neck.
"Bossy."
