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CHAPTER TWO: HUNGER MOON - PART TWO
Harried, Dawn grabbed her laundry basket. She hadn’t heard her alarm go off. She’d been baking and she liked to listen and sing and dance to music while she did — swore it made the food taste better, when it was made with joy — and, before she knew it, more time than she’d intended had passed. Shit. She hated doing that. She had her last load of laundry in the dryer, so it wasn’t too bad. But, still, she shouldn’t have let time get away from her.
She rushed down to the laundry room, opening the door to find Tucker loading clothes into the washer. “Oh, hey, neighbor!”
She gave him a confused smile. “Hi.” She’d thought there were laundry rooms on every floor; what was he doing on the third floor?
He shrugged as if reading her mind. “Second floor’s washer is always busy. Hope you don’t mind me sneaking up here.”
“Not at all.” She shook her head, turning to frown at the dryer that was still running. Had she misjudged? But, no, looking at the dial, the dryer was just starting its cycle.
“Oh, your load was done,” Tucker said with a shrug. “And, well, my load needed to go in…” He nodded to the small folding table in the corner, where her clothes sat. Neatly folded. “I hope you don’t mind. I folded it, so you don’t have to.” He smiled. “Seemed the least I could do.”
She stared at her clothes, not knowing what to say. What was there to say? It’d been her fault, for missing her alarm. What did she expect him to do, wait for her? That was nonsense. So she shook her head and moved to the table. “Of course. Thanks.” She reached out, moving folded tank tops and scarves from the formica into her basket. She tried not to blush as she imagined him touching, folding, her bralets and chemises. It would have to be her delicates. Pursing her lips, she swore she could still feel the trace of his fingers on the fragile lace and satin.
Which was silly. She’d just finished doing her laundry; it was beyond foolish to wonder if it was worth re-doing it. As if they were already dirty, as if they’d been made dirty again. Besides, he was using the washer and dryer. Even if she wanted to, she’d have to wait for him to be done before even starting. And who knew when he’d be done? No, it didn’t make any sense. She wasn’t making sense.
It was fine.
Fine.
“Oh, yeah.”
She looked up as Tucker dug into his pocket, surprised when he pulled out a tube of lipstick. Her lipstick.
He smiled at her. “Found this on the first floor, by the stairs.” He held it out to her.
She stared at it, the slim cylinder clutched between his fingers. She swore she could see his skin leave prints on the shiny surface.
“Thought you’d be happy to see it.”
She shook her head at his pouting tone. “Of course.” She took it from him, forcing herself to smile. “Thank you.” She shoved it into her satchel. “You shouldn’t have. I made too big a deal of it earlier.”
“Not at all.” He grinned and leaned in. “I’m always happy to help. With anything.” He gently kicked the dryer with his foot. “Everything in this place is a clunker. Old pipes. Old appliances. It’s all held together with spackle and duct tape. So, you know, if you ever need anything, all you need to do is ask and I’ll come running.”
Right. “Got it.” She picked up her basket and made her way to the door. He rushed to open it for her, forcing her to back up as he made a grab for the knob and pulled back the door. “I don’t know how to thank you; you’ve been so helpful.” Always so eager to help. She tried not to react as she felt his hand lightly brush her back and along her flank as she passed, but she could feel her tail tense at attention, flashing a white warning.
Her stomach clenched at his quiet chuckle as she hurried past him. “That’s me. Your helpful caretaker, ’cause I’m here to take care of you.” He reached out and touched a long strand of her curls, letting it stretch out between them as he tested its texture between his fingers. “But, if you really do want to thank me, like I said, I really did love those lemon bars.” He shrugged as she looked over her shoulder at him, letting the strand fall back into place. His voice lowered as his gaze heated. “Or anything else you want to give me. I’m sure anything from you would taste amazing.”
She smiled stiffly, trying to force her tail, still twitching from the touch, down and really wishing she hadn’t given him her leftovers. Looking at it now, it’d set bad expectations. Bad boundaries. Not that she could d0 anything about that now. But she was almost sure she was never going to bake for this man, so she said nothing, just made her way back to her apartment and wondered what to do about the mess of neatly folded clothes in her arms.
Entering her apartment, she put the basket down. She ought to put everything away, but she just couldn’t bring herself to, preferring to leave the basket in the corner of her living room until she could forget the image of him touching her things. She reached into her pocket and set the lipstick on her table, only to shake her head and flick it with her finger. She watched it roll and tumble off the edge into the trash can she kept close by. It was just lipstick; she should just get a new tube. And a new comb. And just let the rest go. Honestly, having it back didn’t feel as good as she thought it would.
She heard her oven timer ding. It was time to turn her cake. Sliding on her oven mitts, she did. She should start making the icing. About to turn back on her music, she suddenly wondered if Tucker could hear it through the floor or through the open windows. Could he hear her sing and dance and make an absolute fool of herself? She imagined him staring at his ceiling, listening to her. Would he be annoyed by it? Fascinated?
Either way, it made her want to tiptoe through her apartment.
Or leave it.
She sighed and stared at her cake. Fuck it. It was almost done. If she shut off her oven and just let it sit in the lingering heat, it would finish just fine without her. She could ice it later. Before bed or before she left for work. But she just couldn’t stay here. Couldn’t be in this place, that suddenly didn’t feel like hers anymore. So she shut off the oven, grabbed her bag, and headed out.
She didn’t even wonder where she would go. She knew exactly where she wanted to be. With each step toward the garden, she felt her tensions lift, felt her shoulders and neck relax. By the time she stepped onto the rich soil, she felt like she could breathe easy again.
Really, she’d just been ridiculous, seeing shadows and suspicion where there weren’t any. Tucker was just being nice. So what if he liked her? That was a nice thing, wasn’t it? It ought to make her feel good. Yet his attention, that should have left her feeling wanted, made her feel watched. Wary. Weird.
Jeez, what the fuck was wrong with her? She should apologize. Maybe bring him a stupid piece of cake.
But she really didn’t want to.
What kind of person did that make her? Her mother, the queen of hospitality, would disown her.
“You okay?”
Her tail flicking up in surprise, she saw Russ stare at her from over by the brown-eyed Susans. She hadn’t even noticed him there. Which was, again, silly of her, since he was a hard man to miss. She shook her head. “I’m fine.” She waved her hand. “Just got some things on my mind.”
“Needed somewhere to think.”
She nodded, her tail swaying softly, relieved he understood. “The open air just makes everything else seem smaller somehow.” Made her every misstep seem trivial and put her often frazzled thoughts into perspective. “It’s nice. Reminds me of home.”
He nodded. “You said your sister gardens?”
“Farms,” she said, surprised that he’d remembered. “My family owns a farm. Fawning Meadows. It’s small, more of a touristy thing than a working farm.” Like a petting zoo, if the animals ran it, a travel blogger had called it once. “People come and watch us till the soil with old-fashioned plows and help us pick produce with wicker baskets that my mother weaves. They buy homemade lunches made with farm fresh ingredients. That kind of thing.”
“Sounds…” He huffed. “Nice.”
She shrugged. “It is.” The perfect pastoral paradise, another destination guide had described it.
“Why’d you leave?” He studied her, his amber eyes seeming to catch something beyond her words. Like he could hear the things she didn’t say. It should have bothered her. Should have felt like an invasion.
But, here in the quiet peace of his garden, it made her feel seen. Like he could already see the shitty parts she hid from everyone else and didn’t see a problem, so what could it hurt to tell him? So, she let out a soft, self-deprecating laugh. “I don’t like being watched.”
Raising his eyebrows, he nodded and quickly turned away. “Sorry.”
“No,” she said, taking a step toward him, “that’s not what I meant.” She sighed. “I mean, when the whole business model is to get as many tourists in, literally inviting them — charging them — to get a glimpse of your life, not liking to be watched is bad for business.” She frowned, remembering the weight of strangers’ stares as they’d followed her around the farm or kitchen. She could still hear them marvel at the way she walked and moved while they’d examined everything she did. She remembered the way people would touch her, needing to know if she was as soft as they hoped she would be. She rolled her jaw, the tension she’d felt from smiling all the damned time still haunting her all the way here. She winced, as if the flash of their cameras and phones were still pointed her way, taking bits and pieces of her home with them, like her life was some souvenir. “It wasn’t for me.”
He grunted, the small noise sounding sympathetic as if he knew exactly what she was talking about. She turned to see him, sitting cross-legged now as he faced her more than a yard away. “But part of you still misses it.”
She smiled ruefully. “Yeah.” She missed her family. The wide open spaces. The simplicity and familiarity of it all. “I needed something new, but it was still home.”
He looked off at the pond. “Then I’m glad this place reminds you of it.”
***
Russ didn’t know exactly when he’d started to think of the garden as theirs, instead of his. As a werewolf, he had issues with territorial tendencies. Didn’t generally like people in his space or touching his stuff.
But, when it was Dawn, he found he didn’t mind so much.
Maybe it was because she was so gentle with everything. Didn’t grab at or mess up things. She respected them. The plants and flowers and trees, but also the animals and people. Him, she respected him.
He didn’t know when it’d happened either, but somehow, slowly — slow enough that he hadn’t noticed it while it was happening — her scent had changed. She still smelled of daylight and warmth, but that stinging anxiety that had always seemed to twinge his senses had vanished. He liked that more than he probably should. And he liked that she liked the things he did — the plants, the pond, the peace — seeing their value when most people just saw weeds. Liked the way her eyes always lit up like star showers when she saw him.
He snuck a peek at her now, as she read in the spot that felt more hers than his now. He liked that she could do that, sit in silence with him without needing to fill it with nervous, empty words he often didn’t know what to do with, like some did. Her presence felt steady, simple. Serene.
Yeah, shit, he liked a lot about her more than he probably should.
He watched her back legs twitch, but not with nerves. No, under her tree with her nose practically pressed to her phone’s screen and an irrepressible smile tugging at her face, it was definitely excitement bubbling through her. Pleasure. At whatever she was reading. The hot scent of something honeyed and thick made him wonder if she was reading something dirty. Something romantic and steamy like the books some of his old girlfriends used to devour like dessert.
Now there was a thought he really shouldn’t dwell on.
But, no matter how he tried, the idea stuck and clung to him, making his body react to it. He licked his lips and gripped his trowel hard. Stop it. Just think of something — anything — else. But how could he, when the way that her titillated tail stuck straight up let her intoxicating scent fill his senses with every breath?
Fuck.
He glared down at his lap and tried to control his wayward cock. Calm down. That is not for you. She is not for you. She was sunshine and softness, lipstick and fucking lemon bars. He was shadows and howling moonlight, cracking bones and the hunt. He had no business going anywhere near that thought.
Then why did it feel as if the hardness in him was calling out to everything soft in her?
“Russ?”
He jerked up at the sound of Tucker’s voice. His hands dropped in front of his errant crotch as flashbacks of eighth grade flamed his face. God, he needed to get himself under control. “What?” he all but growled at the man who never came into his garden. Russ bit back the need to chase him out of it.
“B’s third floor dryer is messed up.”
Russ closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. “Then fix it.” Building B was Tucker’s responsibility.
Tucker shrugged as he looked over at Dawn, who was studiously looking at — though, Russ thought, not actually reading — her book, her tail now demurely and determinedly tucked beneath her. “Tried, couldn’t get it to start up again.” He shrugged jovially. “You know you’re better with that kind of thing. Take a look at it?” He chuckled as he winked at Dawn, making her tail flick. “C’mon, man, you wouldn’t make me beg in front of a pretty lady, would you?”
Russ huffed and rolled his eyes. Well, at least, he didn’t have a hard-on anymore, irritation working better than a cold shower. “Fine.” He got up and made his way toward building B. He turned, when Tucker didn’t follow him. “You coming?”
Tucker just shrugged, not even bothering to look at him. His gaze was locked on the woman under the willow. “You don’t really need me, do you, boss?”
Russ gritted his teeth against an errant snarl. He shook his head and relaxed his jaw. Why was he upset? Tucker would just be in the way, if he came along, more interested in apartment or town gossip than actual work. But still. Russ bristled at the idea of leaving Tucker here, but couldn’t think of a reason not to go. So, strangely — suspiciously — feeling like he’d been played, he turned with an absolutely irritated grunt and left.
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