We toiled until it grew dark. I found lanterns and brought them up to the kitchen so that I could keep going, but we’d need to get the electrical up and working as soon as possible.
“Knock, knock.” Isobel’s voice pulled me out of my trance, and I turned. She’d showered and changed into a clean pair of jeans and a jumper that hung loosely off of one shoulder, and she was so beautiful that I had to glance away. “It’s getting late.”
“Really?” I frowned, looking down at my watch. It was nearly nine-thirty. Surprise flashed through me.
“You’ve been in the zone.” She held up a basket that I hadn’t noticed because I’d been so distracted by her beauty. “I brought you dinner. And a beer.”
“Thanks.”
“Well, don’t get used to it.” She walked toward the middle of the room and pulled a blanket out of her basket, then laid it on the ground.
“Don’t get used to you bringing me dinner?”
“Or a beer.” She pulled one out of the basket and opened it, then handed it to me. “I always did this for my boyfriend. Every night, dinner and a beer as soon as he got home from work. Then I did the washing up.” She sounded disgusted with herself, and I wanted to know more.
“Every night?” I sat on the blanket when she did.
“Yep.” She pulled two paper-wrapped Cornish pasties out of the basket and handed one to me. It was warm from the oven, and I recognized the distinctive crimped crust of Margot’s Tea & Cake Parlor. She must have picked them up earlier in the day and heated them in her oven.
“If you did all that, then what did the miserable sod do?” I asked.
“Mostly just watched footie and took me for granted, I’m realizing now.” She sipped her beer. “But I’m done with him, and I’ve got a new life. I’m not a doormat anymore.”
“A doormat?” A surprised laugh escaped me. “I have a hard time believing you were ever a doormat.”
“Well, I was. Trust me. But I’m getting better. It’s like I just had to wake up and get out of that old life, you know? He was an expert manipulator, Tommy was. I had no idea how well he’d played me until I’d wasted way too much time on him.” There was a hint of sadness to her voice, and it made something violent seethe inside me.
She looked over at me. “Did you just growl?”
“Um.” Had I? “Maybe.”
“Is that a werewolf thing?”
“Yes.” Although I hadn’t noticed that I’d made a noise. I’d been too busy fantasizing about punching this Tommy bastard. “I don’t like the idea of your boyfriend hurting you.”
As soon as I said the words, I knew they were too much. I should have kept them to myself.
“That’s unexpectedly sweet.”
“Don’t get used to it. I’m a miserable grump, remember?”
“Oh, right.” She smiled. “I almost forgot. But maybe I’m willing to revise that. You’ve been very helpful today.”
“Just trying to get rid of you, remember?” I made my voice gruff, wanting to return to the safety of being a bastard.
“Ah, yes. There’s the miserable grump I remember.” But still, she smiled.
“Good. Don’t forget it.” I finished the pasty and stood. “I’m going to get back to work.”
“It’s late. You should quit.”
“Soon enough.” I spoke without looking at her, hoping she would go. As long as she was near me, it was difficult to stay in my protective bubble. “I’ll see you later.”
“All right.” If she sounded a bit hurt, there was nothing I could do about it. And when she finally left, I breathed a sigh of relief and got back to the kitchen.
I finished the project I’d started in the pantry, then went outside. The cool moonlight bathed my skin, and I breathed a sigh of relief. A run would sort me out. At the very least, it would help me fight this endless desire to kiss Isobel.
As the night air came alive around me, I called upon my wolf and shifted into my animal form. My clothes disappeared, and my senses grew twice as strong. Soon, I stood on all fours, feeling immensely better. Then I began to run.
Chapter
Fifteen
Isobel
Rafe spent the next three days helping me at the house. The second morning we were working, he arrived just as I was finishing the spell that would give me enhanced speed. At his request, I enchanted him as well.
It made all the difference. He was so incredibly skilled that the kitchen came together in no time once he was able to work more quickly than his usual pace—which, as far as I could tell, was already quite fast.
I was really starting to feel hopeful about this place. The house was still grumpy, but less so. It would need to get a lot better before I could convince an electrician or plumber to come in. And the roof would need professional help, but I really couldn’t let innocent people up there if I was worried the house would find a way to fling them off.
On the third day, during a lunch of cheese and pickle sandwiches that I’d packed for us, I asked Rafe why he’d chosen to work with wood. We sat on the porch, with the autumn breeze blowing our hair back and the sea sparkling in the distance.
He hesitated before answering, and for a second, I was pretty sure he wasn’t going to talk at all.
“I used to be an investor. I liked numbers because they were simple.” He didn’t say it, but I was pretty sure he’d liked the fact that numbers weren’t people. “And that worked out well for me, for a while.”
I remembered what the bartender had said about him making a lot of money, but he didn’t mention that. “But?” I asked. “There’s clearly a but coming.”
He nodded. “I was unfulfilled. There was just something so cold about it all. So I decided to refinish my kitchen. I wanted a project to do with my hands, and it needed some work.”
“And you weren’t keen on having people in your house, mucking about with installing a new one.”
He smiled. “True. There was that added benefit.”
“Where was this?”
“London, about six years ago.”
“Wow, you would have been young.”
“Twenty-six. Once I started refinishing on the kitchen, I realized how much I preferred working with my hands. It was…calming. I can disappear into the work. So I left my job and started to learn woodworking. First cabinetry, then boats.”
“So you started a whole new life?”
“Essentially.”
“Did you get a job with a cabinetmaker?”
“No, I did it on my own. Self-taught.”
“So you could avoid people.”
He just shrugged. But in this whole story, he’d made no mention of getting a job, which meant he’d must have been very good at investing, even though he’d been super-young.
“You’re a talented guy, aren’t you?”
“Just at one thing.” He smiled. “But that’s good enough for me.”
It wasn’t just one thing, but I didn’t say it.
“All right. I’m back to work.” He packed away the rubbish from lunch, then headed to the kitchen. As I watched him walk away, I realized that in all of the story he’d just told about his life, there had been no mention of his pack.