"Nico," he says. Testing it.
"Yeah."
"In case you get lost, Nico."
I leave. Drive back to the hotel. Shower again, because I showered this morning but that was eight hours and one emotional restructuring ago. Change into the navy sweater that Cass says makes me look like a person.
At five-fifteen, I drive to the liquor store. Mid-range red. Not too expensive, not too cheap. I stand in the wine aisle for eleven minutes, which is nine minutes longer than any wine purchase should take, and I select a Malbec that falls in the narrow window between trying and not caring.
At five-fifty, I'm in my rental car in front of a house on Maple Street. Four bedrooms. Lights on. Cars in the driveway. The sound of people inside — music, conversation, the clatter of someone in a kitchen.
My phone buzzes. Ezra.
The wine is going to be fine.
I didn't text him that I was worried about the wine. He just knew.
How did you know I was worried about the wine?
You've been sitting in the driveway for 4 minutes. I can hear your heartbeat from inside.
He's inside. Listening to my heartbeat from the driveway. Knowing I'm nervous. Telling me, without telling me, that he's there.
I get out of the car at six o'clock exactly. I bring the wine. I walk to the front door.
I'm about to walk into a house full of lion shifters who can hear my heart racing and I can't do a single thing about it.
I knock.
Chapter 17
Ezra
I get to Ash's house early because I need to stop hovering at the bar waiting for Nico to arrive and hovering at Ash's house waiting for Nico to arrive is at least a change of scenery.
Nico. The name is still new in my mouth — he gave it to me three hours ago, at the bar, when he handed me his phone for the number.The people who know me call me Nico.Not Nicholas, the suit and the laptop bag and the thirty percent tips. Nico, the man who drove to my parking lot at dawn and showed me everything.
The house is already loud. Jason's in the kitchen doing something with a whole chicken that involves an unreasonable amount of garlic. Robin is supervising from the doorway, which means Robin is biting his tongue every thirty seconds because Jason's kitchen is Jason's kitchen and Robin knows better than to reach for someone else's cutting board. Vaughn is on the back porch with Ash, both of them doing something to the grill that involves a lot of quiet pointing and the occasional grunt of agreement. Toby is setting the table — the big one, the dining room one that seats ten, which Ash bought after the third dinner where people were eating on the couch because there wasn't enough room.
Knox is in the living room with a beer. Sitting. Just sitting. Which means he's thinking, and when Knox thinks before a pride dinner it usually means something is about to change.
"He's not here yet," Knox says without looking up.
"I didn't ask."
"You looked at the driveway."
"I looked at the window. Windows face driveways. That's geometry."
Knox almost smiles. Almost. "He'll be here."
Silas is in the armchair in the corner with a book, which is Silas's version of being social. He's present. He's participating. He's just doing it while reading. We've all accepted this.
The house smells like garlic and roasting chicken and the lived-in warmth of a space that has too many people in it for its square footage and doesn't care. Ash's house wasn't designed for pride dinners. But since Vaughn and Robin moved in a few months back, and Jason started staying most nights, and dinners became a regular thing, the house has been quietly colonized. The boots by the front door are four different sizes. The coat hooks have Ash's military-precise jacket next to Vaughn's leather next to Robin's denim. The fridge has Jason's meal prep containers next to Robin's butter stockpile next to whatever Ash decided to buy at the store that week, which is always wrong.
Ash's house. Ash's rules. Except the rules have been rewritten by the people who love him, and he lets them, and that's its own kind of story.
A car pulls into the driveway.
