She peered up at him. “Okay?”
“First, you got any allergies I should know about?”
Nelly shook her head. “Kiwis make my mouth itch, but that’s the extent of it.”
He rubbed his thumbs in slow circles, caressing her through the layers of her sweater and undershirt. “Are you okay with meat or do you want vegetarian food? Vegan?”
“I eat everything.” It was hard not to when you grew up with a chef for a father and spent most of your life in rugged backcountry. Living rough meant eating well was essential, and that usually ended up including meat. Sentimentality was the first thing to go when you needed calories after a long, grueling hike.
Not wanting him to feel like she wasn’t interested in him, too, she asked, “What about you?”
Clark shrugged. “No allergies and I eat just about everything, too, ‘cept fish. I got a trout bone stuck in my throat when I was three and haven’t liked any of the slimy fuckers since.”
Before she could over-analyze what she was about to say, Nelly replied, “I like seafood sometimes, but it’s not a dealbreaker for me.”
Dealbreaker?Her stomach swooped.Am I really talking like we’re starting a relationship already? Next we’ll start negotiating what side of the bed we want.
She wasn’t the only one who picked up on it. A slow, satisfied smile spread across his face. “One last question.”
Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded.
“I don’t want to pry, but I also need to know stuff that might be dangerous for you, so I have to ask: What’s going on with the gloves, Nelly? I don’t mind it, but if it’s a medical thing, I really ought to know.”
She looked away. Some of the warm flush drained away when she answered, “It’s not a medical thing. It’s a… It’s a magic thing.”
There was a pause, then, “And I’m guessing you don’t want to explain that right now.”
“Not really.”
He squeezed her hips again. “All right, then don’t. We’ve got time. You want me to wear gloves while I make dinner?”
Nelly’s eyes snapped back to Clark. His expression was perfectly serious. There was no derision there, no discomfort, no annoyance. She was relieved, but also shocked that he’d offered at all.
Most people asked invasive questions about her gloves, which only conditioned her to be more private over the years. If they didn’t know about the gloves, they tended to think she was weird or rude for not liking touch, or people handling her things without permission. Even Suhana, her only friend in Montague and one of the sweetest souls she’d ever met, looked askance at her when she brought her own cutlery over for dinner.
But Clark didn’t bat an eye. He asked questions and tried to accommodate her needs to the best of his ability.
Nelly’s heart, already overworked by his presence, constricted in her chest. For the first time in her life, she felt the compulsion to just reach out andsqueezehim like a phantom ache in her limbs.
Gods, even her eyes had gone a little misty.
“Y-Yeah,” she answered, voice thick with emotion. “That would… that would be really nice of you.”
“Hey, what’s this?” Clark pulled her closer, until her butt barely rested on the edge of the counter. Tucking her legs to the side, he wound his arms around her waist and drew her in for a hug against his flannel-covered chest. A smooth purr rumbled to life below her cheek. “Why’re you crying, sugar? It’s a holiday, remember? It’s a happy time.”
He’s so warm.Nelly’s breath hitched. Had she ever felt something as welcoming as Clark’s sturdy chest, his body heat, the slight vibration of his purr? Even undercut by her detergent, his clothes smelled rich and musky and likehim.
She wasn’t sure what she was doing, really, but Nelly found herself winding her arms around his waist, too. Clothed, she didn’t have to worry about soaking in his body’s memories. Her hesitance was born more from habit than anything else.
Nelly liked her personal space not only because sheneededit, but because she just… generally didn’t like people touching her.
But Clark was warm and gentle and smelled good. He didn’t push for more. He simply held her there, supporting her weight as he purred a soothing note in his chest.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered into his shirt. Since she’d handled it already, her psychic barriers barely twitched at the bombardment of memories that resulted from the skin of her cheek touching the fabric. “I’m just not used to people asking. Most people aren’t super nice about my… stuff.”
“Well, for starters I’m not most people.” Big hands ran up and down her back. Her heart squeezed again when she realized he was very deliberately avoiding any place that might bring their skin into contact. “I’m your mate, Nelly.”
He’s my mate.
