He stares at me, his mouth open slightly. “Julia. I’d never be embarrassed of you. I made Conall wait in the car because he’s a dumbass, and I don’t want himto bother you if you’re not ready to meet my family yet.”
“Oh.”
The Jeep’s passenger window rolls down, and Conall cups his hands around his mouth. “You want Ian’s nine-incher?” he calls. “He’s got two!”
My eyes go wide. That was definitely not in the brochure that Dr. MacDougal gave me about wulver reproduction. “You have two…?”
“Oh mygod, he’s an idiot,” Ian mutters under his breath. To me, he grimaces. “See why I didn’t let him meet you? Twofish. I caught two nine-inchtroutthis morning, and my dear brother wants to know if you would like to have one or both of them.”
My stomach growls at the mention of fish. Richard always says it’s too smelly to cook fish in the morning, but I love it. My mom made grilled mackerel for breakfast regularly when I was growing up, so it’s really nostalgic and comforting to me. I’d eat it every day if I could.
Ian’s ears perk forward, and he lights up. “Wait right here!” He jogs over to his Jeep, where he has an animated conversation with his brother before returning with two speckled fish with bright pink stripes down their sides, cradled in a bed of damp sphagnum moss. “For you,” he says.
He hands them over, moss and all. I have to tuck my car key in my armpit to hold them.
“They’re small,” he says apologetically. “They’ll probably have a lot of bones.”
“They’re beautiful, thank you.” They really are, like gleaming little wares from a silversmith’s shop, almost too pretty to eat.
“Do you know how to clean them? If you don’t, I can—”
“I can do it,” I assure him, and his tail wags, just once.
“So, um…” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other as I stand there awkwardly, holding fish. “The contract. I saw it in your car when I was driving over, so I know you didn’t get a chance to sign it yet. But if we want to do…this…this weekend, we should probably get the paperwork done ASAP.”
This weekend. Right. That’s when Dr. MacDougal said I’d probably ovulate, based on her scans of my ovaries, but she said that when Ian wasn’t in the room. Which means…
“Did I tell you that I’m ovulating this weekend?” I ask, my voice strained.
He nods slowly. “You don’t remember that, either?”
I have to laugh. “No, and please don’t tell me what else I said.”
“Nothing bad,” he murmurs. He really has the prettiest eyes. I’ve never seen anything like their golden gleam.
His brother honks the horn, jolting us both. “Come on, my mate needs her breakfast, too!” he hollers out the car window.
“I should go.” He doesn’t, though. Maybe he’s worried about the logistics of what’s next for our little arrangement.
“I’m working tomorrow afternoon,” I tell him. “If you want to pick up the paperwork at the bookstore.”
“Tomorrow afternoon, then.” But he still doesn’t move. He just stands there on the porch, looking at me.
“Go!” I laugh.
“You first.”
Hands full of fish, ridiculous pajamas, bedhead in full force, I retreat into the house to escape his golden gaze. Not because he doesn’t like what he sees when he looks at me. But because I think he does, and that puts us in some dangerous territory. The kind of territory where feelings develop.
We have a business relationship, and it needs to stay that way. Nights like last night can’t happen again, or this is going to get really messy.
I find Nicole in the kitchen, hovering over the doughnut box.
“Are those rainbow trout?” she asks through a mouthful of sugary glaze. “Nice.”
I nod. “I thought I’d go home and grill them for breakfast, but I can do it here if you want some. My kimchi is still in your garage fridge, I think.”
Nicole nods excitedly. As much as she is a doughnut goblin, she grew up with her Indonesian grandma cooking for the family, so she also loves a savory breakfast. “Hell yeah, I’ll make the rice.”
