Her eyes go wide, her breath hiccupping.
“Ah.” I keep my voice gentle, nonthreatening. “You sense it too, then.”
She’s blinking rapidly, and I can practically see her mind working through the implications. “I—that’s not—look, I need to focus on this event right now. Not complicate it with… whatever this is.”
“It’s not a complication.”
“I beg to differ.” She moves toward the door, but I step sideways, not blocking, just delaying, and rest my hand against the wood.
She glances up at me, and I can spot her trembling slightly. Fear? Attraction? Both?
“I won’t do anything you don’t want,” I say quietly. “But I need you to be honest with yourself. You feel it. The pull. The recognition. You know what we are to you.”
She swallows hard. “I’ll think about it.”
The words surprise a laugh out of me. “Okay, then.”
“Noel, I’m just dealing with the disaster to my career with Scot. I can’t pile pack dynamics and scent matches and whatever else comes with this on top of everything else. Not right now.”
“You don’t have to decide today, but sometimes the universe doesn’t wait.” I move my hand from the door, giving her space to leave if she wants. “I can be patient. Think about it. We’ll talk later.”
She darts out the door before I can say anything else, and I’m left standing alone in the small room, my heart racing, my entire body still humming with her presence. I give myself ten seconds to calm down, then head back outside.
Kane appears at my elbow immediately. “What were you two doing in there for so long?”
“I told her she’s our scent match.”
His shoulders stiffen. “You just—you straight up told her?”
“Someone had to. She knows we know. And yep, she feels it too. We just have to wait for her to accept it.”
“Chris is going to be insufferable when he finds out.”
We’re both watching Hannah now, and there’s something different in how she moves, more aware of where we are in the space, glancing over at us more frequently.
A goat wanders over to her while she’s talking to a family with two kids. It starts chewing on the hem of her dress.
She doesn’t notice.
Kane and I exchange looks. “Should we tell her?” Kane asks, keeping his voice low.
“Where’s the fun in that?” The goat keeps chewing, fabric unraveling, and Hannah is still completely oblivious, focused on explaining the proper way to pet another goat to a very serious five-year-old.
“She’s going to lose that dress,” Kane observes.
“Probably.”
“And you’re not going to warn her.”
“Not yet.”
We watch as the goat keeps going. Another seam on the side starts to give, threads popping one by one.
Hannah is gesturing animatedly, describing something about wool production, completely unaware that her costume is slowly being destroyed.
“We’re terrible people,” Kane mutters.
“The worst.”
