Cookies & Claws, page 6
I squeeze my eyes shut. It may not have meant anything to her, but it had gutted me. Meant everything to me. The bond had surged like wildfire the moment her lips brushed mine.
Have you forgotten the way she responded? The way her body leaned into yours?
“It was just instinct,” I mutter, even as my gaze drifts over every curve of her face—the slope of her nose, the bow of her lips, the freckles across her cheeks still faintly flushed. I memorize them like a starving man counting crumbs. “A physical reaction. That’s all.”
If she didn’t feel for you, why did she ask you to stay?
“She didn’t want me skidding off the road and freezing to death in a ditch,” I grumble. “She was just being kind. Didn’t want our deaths on her conscience.”
You’re a bigger fool than I thought. My bear snorts, sharp and derisive, inside my head.
I drag a palm over my chest where the ache throbs sharpest. “The storm will clear by morning. Then she’ll go back to her life, and I’ll go back to mine.”
The fire dips lower, a scatter of glowing embers pulsing red against the blackened logs.
You know we won’t be able to stay away.
The truth of it makes my ribs feel too tight. I press my hand harder against my sternum, trying to hold back the wanting that threatens to consume me whole. “We’ll have to find a way,” I whisper, though my heart doesn’t believe the words.
Gently, I shift Hazel from my lap, her body instinctively curling in on itself. She shivers, even though the room is warm. I make quick work putting out the lingering embers so none spark and set the house on fire while I sleep—if I can sleep, despite the exhaustion pulling at my eyelids.
With a quiet sigh, I stretch out beside her on the floor, leaving a thin strip of space between us, and tug one of her oversized comforters over us both. My body heat seeps into the space until I feel her relax again.
I lace my hands behind my head and stare up at her plain white ceiling, counting the hairline cracks in the plaster just to keep my mind off the girl inches away.
But Hazel moves in her sleep. She rolls into me, soft face nuzzling my chest, arm looping over my ribs, leg sliding across mine like she belongs there. My breath stutters. The sweetest temptation, warm and fragile in my arms, and she doesn’t even realize what she’s doing to me.
See? I told you.
“She’s only seeking warmth,” I whisper hoarsely, even as my arm betrays me, sliding around her shoulders to hold her closer. My nose brushes her hair, breathing her in until the ache burns deeper. “By morning, things will go back to normal.”
But as I stare into the dark, her heartbeat steady against mine, I know the truth. This will be the longest night of my life—lying in the arms of the woman I want more than anything. The woman I didn’t think I’d find in my lifetime. The woman who doesn’t want me back.
Morning comes too soon, sunlight cutting through the frosted panes and scattering across the room in a golden haze. I blink against the brightness, the remnants of restless dreams dissolving as Hazel shifts beside me. She stretches, long strands of blonde and blue hair tumbling forward like a silky curtain over her shoulders.
Her eyes widen when she realizes just how close she’d been. “Oh no. Please tell me I didn’t—” she gasps softly, fingertips brushing her lips. “I think I drooled on you in my sleep.” Her cheeks flush the prettiest shade of pink as she glances at the spot she’d been curled against me.
I let out a low chuckle, pushing to my feet and offering her my hand. “If you did, I’ll survive. Consider it a hazard of the job.”
Her brow quirks as she slips her fingers into mine, letting me pull her upright. “Job? What job is that?”
“Rescuing damsels in distress,” I tease, though my chest tightens at how right her hand feels in mine. Too right. I force myself to let go before I hold on too long. “How’s your ankle?”
“My ankle? Oh!” She glances down at the bandage, experimentally bouncing on her good foot before testing the injured one. “Surprisingly, I hardly feel anything. Just a dull ache.” Her expression softens, almost impressed. “Honestly, I thought I’d be hobbling for at least a week. Guess your snow-pack trick worked.”
Relief eases through me, though I cover it with a shrug. “Looks like the storm’s cleared too. I should probably get back home.”
Her face falters at that, a flicker so quick I might’ve missed it if I wasn’t watching her every move. My heart kicks hard at the sight, and damn me, part of me doesn’t want to leave at all.
“Oh. Right, of course.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, as if trying to mask disappointment. “Well, I’m glad I could… return the favor. Offering you shelter after you rescued me. Even if technically I was only out there because of me in the first place.” A wry smile tugs at her lips. “I’m sure you’ve got plenty of things waiting on you. People to see. Farm duties to tend to.”
“Yeah,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. Truth is, most of our work slows after the last delivery of trees for the year. There’s nothing urgent waiting for me—nothing pulling me back except the gnawing ache of leaving her. “Always something to do on the farm.”
Silence stretches, thick and awkward. Hazel worries her bottom lip between her teeth, eyes darting toward me, away, back again.
Tell her. Kiss her.
My bear rumbles low, urging me to close the distance. But then her stomach breaks the quiet with a loud, unmistakable growl.
Her eyes go wide. “Oh my goddess. That did not just happen.”
I can’t help it—laughter bursts out of me, warm and unrestrained. “When was the last time you ate?” I ask, though concern quickly overtakes the humor. She’d been running on fumes when I found her, and between the storm, the ankle, and the cocoa, she hadn’t had much of anything.
She winces, sheepish. “Uh… lunchtime?” She pauses, then adds under her breath, “Unless you count a candy bar I scarfed on the drive up. But in my defense, I haven’t exactly had time to go grocery shopping since the move.”
I cross my arms, giving her a look I know my brother would call my don’t-lie-to-me stare. “So basically, you’ve been living off chocolate bars and hot cocoa.”
Hazel lifts her chin, pretending indignation though her lips twitch. “Hey. Don’t knock the essentials.”
“You’re impossible,” I mutter, but there’s no heat in it. Just warmth. Wanting. More than I should feel for a witch I barely know.
“I could make us coffee, unless you’d prefer more cocoa.” She moves into the kitchen and rummages through a cupboard.
I shake my head and follow. “Move aside. You’re not surviving off candy bars and instant coffee—not on my watch.”
She blinks at me, surprised. “Excuse me? My kitchen.”
I open a few cupboards, finding them mostly bare. “What do we have to work with… ah, flour. Sugar. Cocoa powder. Bananas. Perfect.”
Yes. Feed her. The way to our mate’s heart.
Hazel tilts her head, smile tugging wider despite herself. “You’re seriously about to bake me breakfast?”
I grab a pan from under the counter, shooting her a grin over my shoulder. “Not bake—pancakes. My specialty. You’ll thank me later.”
She crosses her arms, arching a brow. “And what makes you think I even like pancakes?”
“Because everyone likes pancakes,” I shoot back, setting ingredients on the counter.
“And if I don’t?” she challenges, leaning against the wall, her hair falling forward as her lips curve.
“Then I’ll eat them all myself.” I glance at her, catching the way the sunlight glows against her flushed cheeks. For a moment, I imagine her here every morning—messy hair, teasing smile, golden light pouring in. The thought hits too deep, too fast.
I clear my throat and turn back to the stove. “Now sit down before you fall and make me regret letting you out of bed.”
Hazel snorts. “Bossy lumberjack.”
“Stubborn witch.”
CHAPTER 10
BENJAMIN
“Where have you been all night, and why do you smell like you’ve been stuffing your face with cinnamon rolls and cocoa?” my brother drawls the second I push open the back door. He’s leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, eyes sharp, nose twitching like the smug bastard he is.
I’d hoped coming in through the mudroom would let me slip upstairs unseen—maybe grab a hot shower before anyone noticed I was missing. Wash away the scent of where I’d been. The scent of her.
No such luck.
In a house full of shifters? You’re a bigger fool than I thought. My bear’s laughter rumbles low in my head, smug and unhelpful.
“Cocoa?” Gran’s voice cuts through before I can even make up an excuse. She hobbles in with her cane, snow-white hair wound into a bun perched proudly on top of her head. Her eyes—sharp as icicles despite her age—narrow. “If you boys are making cocoa and not sharing, I’ll have a thing or two to say about manners.”
“We’re not making cocoa, Gran,” I mutter quickly, stooping to give her a hug, hoping distraction will buy me a little mercy. She might barely reach my shoulder, but she hugs me with enough strength to crush ribs, reminding me exactly where my mother and brother get it from.
Gran inhales deeply as she pats my back, then leans away with a sly grin. “He’s right, though. You do smell like cocoa. And cinnamon rolls. And…” She tilts her head, studying me with unnerving accuracy. “Something else.”
Heat creeps up the back of my neck. I force a laugh that sounds far too rough in my own ears. “Guess I worked up an appetite and couldn’t resist a sweet treat this morning before I drove home.”
“You worked up something,” she shoots back, shaking her head as though she already knows the truth.
It’s not like I make a habit of staying out all night and sneaking through the back door the next morning.
The clatter of dishes announces my mother before she appears, carrying a tray of plates and cups. She stops, setting them in the sink before wiping her hands on a towel. “Oh, Benjamin, you’re home.” Relief softens her smile, though there’s a question in her eyes. “Your brother said you left in such a hurry yesterday. He went outside to help you finish locking up before the storm hit, and all he saw were your taillights disappearing down the road.”
My gut tightens. I keep my expression carefully blank, rubbing the back of my neck. “It’s nothing. I just… forgot something at Harry’s. Ended up staying in town because of the storm.”
It’s a weak excuse, and we all know it.
Before anyone can press, Gran reaches forward with those eagle eyes and plucks something from my shirt. She holds it up between two fingers, and the world tilts.
A strand of hair—blonde and blue, unmistakable. Hazel’s.
My stomach drops.
Gran hums, amused, twirling the strand like a ribbon caught in the wind. “Forgot something at Harry’s, hm?” Her smile is knowing, sharp enough to slice me open. “Tell me, Benjamin, does Harry have a witch working for him?”
I groan inwardly, my bear snorting in my head.
Busted.
“A witch?” My mother pipes up, abandoning the dishes and hurrying over, my brother hot on her heels.
“It’s been a while since I’ve been around one,” she muses, nose wrinkling. “But you smell unmistakably like magic, if I had to bet.”
“You can’t smell magic—” I start, but my brother punches me square in the arm, his face split wide in a grin.
“A witch, eh?” he taunts, slinging an arm around my shoulders and plucking the hair from Gran, dangling it in front of my face.
“It’s none of your business.” I snatch it from him, growling as I stuff it into my pocket.
“Oh, so you admit you spent your evening in the company of a blonde-haired witch?” Nathan teases as I duck out of his reach, putting the marble kitchen island between us. I didn’t think his grin could get any bigger, but apparently it can. “When were you going to tell us about her?”
“You met someone in town?” Mom asks as she grabs a clean cup from the cupboard. “Why don’t I make coffee and you can tell us all about her—and when we’re going to meet her. You look like you hardly slept.”
“He probably didn’t,” Nathan snickers. I glare at him, claws threatening to break through my skin.
If only we were so lucky.
“Now, Nathan, make yourself useful and finish those dishes from breakfast,” Mom says with a no-nonsense look as she fills my cup from the coffee machine.
“I could’ve done that, but thank you.” I take the proffered cup and follow her into the living room, the smell of fresh pine and woodsmoke wrapping around me like a blanket. I sink into one of the three oversized couches circling the roaring fire. With a house full of bears, there’s no shortage of sturdy furniture built to handle us—big, cushioned things that looked like they’d been made with us in mind. The resemblance to the Goldilocks story isn’t lost on me.
What would Hazel think of all this? My very own Goldilocks.
My stomach twists at the thought of her cold, empty living room. Just that tree, a box of ornaments, and a few unpacked boxes shoved in the corner. Has she found someone to fix her heater yet? Did she even know how to order firewood? I should’ve left her more cut wood.
You shouldn’t have left her at all.
“Benjamin?” Mom’s voice breaks through my thoughts, and I glance up to find her and Gran perched across from me, staring expectantly.
“Sorry,” I mutter, rubbing the back of my neck. “Guess I’m more tired than I thought.” I take a sip of steaming black coffee, letting the heat burn down my throat, hoping it’ll chase Hazel from my mind.
“Well,” Gran grumbles, stretching her hands toward the fire. “Tell us about her already. I’m not getting any younger.” Her eyes glint like she’s about to pounce.
“There isn’t much to tell. I was heading back to town to Harry’s, like I said.” I sit up straighter, scanning the room. “Speaking of Dad, where is he? Harry wanted me to pass on greetings.”
“Don’t you dare deflect.” Gran leans forward, her cane tapping against the rug like a gavel. “Juicy bits. Now.”
“Mom!” my mother gasps, scandalized, a hand fluttering to her mouth—but her cheeks are pink, and the corners of her lips curve upward.
“Your father,” she says more primly, “insisted on heading out to check on the saplings this morning after the storm.” She lifts her cup. “I told him to stay in, but you know your father.”
“Stubborn old mule.” I chuckle.
“Don’t say that like you wouldn’t be out there with him if you hadn’t spent the night with some young lady,” she quips.
The tips of my ears go hot. I nearly choke on my coffee.
“Alright, fine.” I blow out a breath. “Her name is Hazel. She drove all the way up to the farm last night insisting she needed a Christmas tree.”
“She drove all the way up here alone?” Nathan’s voice cuts in from the doorway. He’s leaning against the frame, arms folded, smirk already in place. “Why not just buy one in town like a normal person?”
“Wait.” Mom’s eyebrows shoot up, her tone sharp as a whip. “Last night? During that storm? You let her drive back to town, knowing full well a snowstorm was due to hit?”
“I didn’t let her do anything.” My jaw clenches. “I warned her. She insisted. She wasn’t leaving without a tree.”
“And you didn’t think to invite her to stay?” Mom’s lips purse in disapproval. “You know very well we have more than enough spare rooms.”
“I—” My throat tightens. I had wanted her to stay. Wanted it more than I should have. But she’d gotten under my skin, and I’d let my doubts drive her off.
“So then what?” Gran asks, her voice low and coaxing, like a child begging for the next part of a fairy tale.
“Well…” I stare into my cup. “I just had this feeling. So I drove back, wanted to make sure she made it into town. Except… she didn’t.”
A hush falls over the room.
“She must’ve hit a patch of black ice,” I murmur. “Slid off the road. Landed in a snowbank.”
“Oh, that poor dear.” Mom’s hand flies to her chest. “Was she hurt?”
“She was fine until she tried to march through the snow. Twisted her ankle.” My lips twitch at the memory. “Stubborn witch still insisted she had to get that damn tree home.”
Nathan whistles low. “So you played knight in shining armor, huh? Or… flannel, in this case.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “And then what? You tuck her in by the fire?”
My ears burn.
“Benjamin!” Mom gasps, aghast.
Gran just cackles. “Did you kiss her?”
I choke on my coffee. “Gran!”
“What?” She shrugs innocently. “A handsome boy, a stranded girl, snow falling outside—it’s practically begging for a kiss. Don’t act like I was born yesterday.”
Nathan grins like the cat who caught the canary. “Oh, he kissed her.”
“I did not—” My ears are on fire now.
“You’re turning red.” Gran narrows her eyes knowingly.
“Men blush when they’re guilty,” Nathan adds.
“Stop it, both of you,” Mom snaps, though her lips twitch again.
“Well?” Gran presses.
I run a hand over my face. “Her power was out, she didn’t have wood, and she didn’t even know how to use her fireplace. What was I supposed to do? Leave her freezing?”
“So you stayed and kept her warm.” Nathan’s grin grows smug.
I open my mouth—
The back door swings open, a burst of cold air following Dad’s familiar uneven footsteps. His crutches thump across the floor before his head appears around Nathan’s shoulder.
“Oh, Benjamin, you’re back.” His voice is brisk, as if I’ve just stepped out to fetch the paper. “Listen, I could use your help with—”
“Not now, Roger,” Mom interrupts firmly, waving him toward a chair. “Ben was just about to tell us how he met Hazel.”
