“I know it’s, well, kind of awful right now, but I’m going to fix it up,” Olive said, her scent growing bitter with embarrassment. “There must have been some mix-up because I was told it would comefurnished, but it didn’t, and I haven’t had the mon—I mean, time—to buy stuff. But I will, promise.” Her tone grew more high-pitched and frantic as she spoke. She could obviously read the growing horror on my face and thought it was aimed at her when she wasn’t to blame.
We were the ones to blame. Lars, Finn, and me.
The stuff that had been in here belonged to Finn’s grandparents. We’d all decided to move it to storage until we bought a home and had more space for it. But Stanley and Carmen must have thought those things belonged to the lighthouse. I mean, fuck if I knew who it actually belonged to—Fredrik and Carina had lived here for about a million years, so maybe some of their things had come with the lighthouse.
My alpha was urging me to throw Olive over my shoulder and drive however long it took to find a 24/7 furniture store and fix this. Or I’d take her to my wood shop and fuckingmakeher furniture tonight.
I also hadn’t missed that she’d been about to say she hadn’t had themoneyfor furniture. Hmm. That would be tricky. How was I going to convince my Olive to let me furnish her house?
It took every therapy coping skill I’d ever learned to help me stay calm, shake out my shoulders, and turn to her with a smile. Fuck. She looked so tense and sad right now, all curled up on herself. I ran my hand down her arm. “I see you’re embracing minimalism. I watched a documentary about that once.”
Her startled eyes met mine. “How was it?”
“Couldn’t tell you. I fell asleep a few minutes in. Must be why Finn always yells at me for being messy. It’s not my fault he doesn’t pay attention to where he’s going. You leave your backpack at the top of the stairsone timeand never hear the end of it.”
The corner of Olive’s lips twitched, and it eased the horrible sinking sensation in my stomach. “I might have to agree with Finn on that one. Bit of a tripping hazard.”
“Yeah, I figured that one out when he fell down the stairs.”
Olive blinked up at me before giving me a shove. “Easton! That’s terrible.”
I shrugged. “He wasfiiiine.” After wearing a brace on his wrist for a month, but I didn’t think Olive needed to hear that part of the story. I’d felt guilty as fuck and had been much more careful of where I put my things… mostly. “Shoes on or off?”
Her head tilted to the side.
“In the house,” I clarified. “Do you wear shoes inside?”
Olive swallowed hard and there was the slightest tremble in her lip. “You still want to come in?”
My heart thumped. I could bear a lot in the world, but seeing Olive sad or ashamed wasn’t one of them. I took her hand, interlacing her fingers with mine. “I’m a big, strong alpha. It takes more than a radical commitment to minimalism to scare me away.”
She ducked her head, but not before I saw her pleased expression. “Shoes off, please.”
“Lars will love that,” I said, toeing off my shoes as Olive did the same. “Those Swedes hate shoes in the house.”
“I think there might be some Swedish ancestry on my mom’s side,” she mused. Then she fell silent and was looking everywhere except at me.
If it were anyone else, I would think she wanted me to go, but I knew Olive. She was just feeling shy.
“Why don’t you show me around, baby?”
She nodded. “Right, yes. Although… you probably know the house better than I do.”
“Show me anyway.” I leaned down and kissed her forehead.
I followed Olive around the house. She scowled at each room, was flustered as she offered some tea (I declined) and a homemade cookie, Summer’s latest experiment (which I accepted). Finally, we were standing in front of a closed door. “This is where I sleep.” She was staring at the door, anxiety radiating off her, and I’d had enough. I picked her up in my arms so her front was pressed against my chest.
“Olive, baby, if you’re not comfortable inviting me in, that is absolutely fine. We can go to my house or”—and I spoke these words through gritted teeth—“end the night here.”
A startled laugh burst from Olive, and it was the best fucking sound.
“You sound so angry at the idea of ending the night.”
“Yeah, well, I’m greedy with you. I want all your time—every single second of it.”
She ran her fingers through my hair. “My stalker.”
“Yours, baby.”
