Cherry
I forced my gaping mouth closed, then pulled the door almost shut behind me, anxious not to wake Fern. If she woke, this situation was going to get even more complicated. I tugged Dylan away from the door. In the middle of the hallway, I crossed my arms and fixed him with a hard look. “I can’t accept these gifts, Dylan. And I don’t want you giving any more gifts to Fern either. I told you, I’m with someone else.”
“You’re still not a morning person, are you?” He said with a crooked smile. “But then, you’ve probably not had your first coffee yet. Here’s a hazelnut latte.” He eyeballed the takeaway cup on the tray. I realized he’d stopped by the café opposite and remembered what I’d ordered yesterday.
I planted my hands on my hips. “I’m serious, Dylan.” I resisted the divine smell of coffee and syrup, as well as the hot buttery croissants and jams that taunted my shifter senses.
He shrugged as if unfazed by my expression and remonstrance. “So am I. After all, I’ve lost count of the number of times you’ve cooked for me and nourished me and our mating bond. It’s my turn to do the same for my mate now.”
The certainty in his voice and dark eyes had a shiver slipping down my spine, and I was suddenly aware that I was only wearing a silk negligee and a thin kimono robe. His domineering tone, clenched jaw, and dark, searing eyes had molten heat pooling in my core. I flushed, retreating back, determined that if I couldn’t tell him to go away, I’d damn well show him. I shut the door on him.
But, apparently, there was nothing I could do to discourage him. The next day I found a breakfast tray set outside the door again. I didn’t touch it. I refused to. Then, by the end of the day, it had been cleared away. But the next day, I found another offering of steaming croissants, butter, and jam awaiting me outside my door.
Early on the third morning, I’d had enough. This was madness. Flinging on some clothes, I pocketed my keys to the apartment, determined to be no more than ten minutes, and marched over to his house.
Pounding on his door, it was only a few knocks before Dylan answered.
Marching past him, I strode into his living-room before turning to stare him down.
“Just stop, Dylan. You’re wasting your time on me. I’m not going to change my mind.”
He set down the breakfast tray on his coffee table and turned to me, a steely determination settling over his face. “I’m not going to stop bringing you food and nurturing our bond.”
Infuriated, I argued, “That was seven years ago, for Nuu-Chah’s sake. We’re not living together anymore.”
His expression fell, and his eyes grew somber. “Something I’ve missed every day since you left,” he declared. “So, no, we’re not living together, but at least here, I get to see you, and am close enough to bring you food, that you don’t eat like the jackass I was back then.”
My lips turned down. “Did you just call me a jackass?”
He scowled. Peculiarly, the expression had my lips twitching with fondness.
Confusion flitted over his face before he said, “No, I’m calling you a saint for the way you put up with me back then.”
I couldn’t let it go, and keeping my expression deadpan, I said, “You definitely called me a jackass.”
As his scowl deepened, so did the wave of nostalgia that hit me. He used to scowl at me as much as he used to loom over me. I felt a surge of fondness for him and his actions. Tenderness for him streamed through me, with all the power that I remembered the bond between us having. It was the strength of that feeling that had me hurrying past him, away from his frown that somehow emphasized his handsomeness, and away from the mouth- watering scent of breakfast that I craved even more now. A feeling deep within me, from the power vested in Nuu-Chah, swam through me. It whispered to me that if I ate from the tray, it would nurture the mating bond between my mate and me.
*********
It had been a week since Dylan had moved in across the way. I wouldn’t say I was used to it or that I’d found a way of co-existing with my ex-mate living so close by, but my shock had waned. It was Friday night, and as the weekend drew in, I decided it was time to have a break from work and cooking. Wanting a change of scene, I decided to take Fern and myself out for some food. As I noticed the breakfast tray outside my door had been cleared away, a smile crossed my face, and I mused that there was a very willing chef nearby.
I shook away the unruly thought. I, obviously, hadn’t eaten any of Dylan’s breakfasts that he’d left. I was hardly going to drop by for dinner at his place just because I didn’t feel like cooking. Besides, it was important to stay firm for Fern’s sake. I’d already explained to her when she’d asked when we’d next see my friend that I didn’t know. I’d had to explain that his arriving just like that had been wrong. I’d told her we’d had a falling out and that we had a lot to talk about before we made up.
Fern and I took a cab to Wedding, where I’d booked a table at a restaurant Carl had once taken me to. I’d called Carl last week and explained that I had a few things on with family stuff and that I needed a bit of space alone with Fern. He’d sounded disappointed but said he’d understood. The truth was, with Dylan opposite, I needed to get my head screwed on right before Carl, and I could move forward.