Trevor grinned up at him from where he knelt on a foam pad beside the table. “I’m not half bad.”
Then Aaron knew his friend was all right, knew he could go home to the pup…and to his mate. All right, then. Trevor knew things he didn’t, had a right maybe for his plea to be heard. The small boy inside Aaron, the boy who didn’t know yet that in a few years he would change under the curse of the moon, the boy who wanted only for his dad to come home so his mom could stop crying when she thought he couldn’t hear—that boy trembled in a corner of his heart, shaking his head against the risk. But Aaron wasn’t the small boy anymore or wasn’t only the small boy. He was Trevor’s friend who trusted him, trusted Malachi too. And he was the wolf fated to win a petite irresistible force of a woman who barged into his life and cared for him, cooked for him, wanted him, challenged him.
He’d probably still suck at this for a while, but it was time to try. Really try.
Though Ember looked forward to her second cookout that afternoon, Saturday passed in a countdown of hours in her head. Hours until the full moon tomorrow. Hours until Aaron and Quinn would depart for the paddock. She’d tried to glean her answers from Quinn instead of Aaron, but all her nephew would say was“It’s the worst part about being a wolf, that’s all.”So Aaron was her only source left, and he had still told her nothing.
Hours before the cookout, Aaron fidgeted on the deck and loathed his idleness while Quinn hopped onto the lawnmower and took off for the edge of the clearing with a holler worthy of a bronc-busting cowboy.
“I can ride around the yard,” Aaron had said. “It’s the one thing Icando right now.”
“And you’ll be jounced around and uncomfortable,” she said. She hadn’t missed his stiffness descending the deck stairs. One more convenient giveaway he couldn’t help. “But forget about you for a minute. Quinn’s overjoyed to be trusted with driving. Just let him bask in it.”
She drove into town with a grocery list based on Quinn’s requests. Later she discovered Aaron had removed his old clutter in the kitchen cupboards and pantry and found a place for everything she’d bought, even the spices. The kitchen looked… Well, it looked to behersnow, no longer his. On the nightstand in her room she found a bottle vase, antique blue glass, filled with vibrant cut wildflowers, yellows and blues and purples that brightened the whole room.
He hadn’t announced or handed any of this to her. He’d left the small gestures for her to find. His bashfulness left her shaking her head but smiling, feeling a tender warmth inside.
Today’s cookout ended slightly earlier than last week’s. Despite the massive helpings at lunch, Ember knew her wolves would still need dinner. She served lasagna and earned the joy of more rumble-growly thanks from Aaron and boisterous praise from Quinn. But tonight felt different than the night before. There was no game of Battleship. There was no joking around the table.
Tomorrow night, they would change. And Ember still didn’t have the knowledge she needed.
After Quinn retired, she and Aaron began the night reading, she on one side of the couch and he on the other. Half an hour later, they were nestled on the couch together, their kisses gentle, the mood a shade of melancholy. She felt so small tucked against his side, his arm careful around her. It was a sensation she never would have expected to love.
“Thank you for the flowers,” she said.
“Um, you’re welcome.”
“Did you actually pick them?” Like a small boy would do for his first crush.
“Yeah. There’s whole fields of them, farther than you went with Quinn, way past the stream.”
Boyish method or not, she loved the flowers more for not being store-bought. He had brought to her room a slice of the land he loved so much. “They’re beautiful. And thank you for the cabinet space too.”
His chest rumbled acknowledgement. “Found that vase while I was making room for your stuff.”
“Your concept of romantic gestures is already improving.” She smiled with one cheek pressed to his shoulder.
“Ember, I…I need to say…I’ve been trying not to…”
“To pressure me,” she said when the pause lasted so long it was clear he wouldn’t finish the sentence.
“No,” he said. “I mean, yes. That. But…I’ve also been trying not to try…not to hope for…for you to stay, and I think I ended up…” He released a long sigh. “I was six when my dad left us. Zane’s age. Old enough to know what was going on, old enough to miss him, to know my mom was broken and I couldn’t help her.”
“Oh, Aaron.”
“Some people just leave. They just… You think you’ll have them always, and then they never come home and never tell you why. So it’s hard—” His voice broke. He cleared his throat. “It’s safer not to hope when there’s no way to be sure.”
“Oh, Aaron.” She sat up and took his face between her hands. “I’m sorry.”
“I never saw him again, not once.”
He cupped his hands around hers. He closed his eyes. No tears, but his face scrunched up for a moment. Then he opened his eyes again, and they were vulnerable clear through, catching the low lamplight.
“I want to try anyway,” he said.
“So do I.”
His thumb rubbed back and forth over her knuckles. “I think I wanted to tell you for a while and didn’t know it. It’s…well, another complication. But I know it’s nothing compared to what you went through as a kid.”
