the cupboard and fills it with two inches of water, then sets it beside my mug of tea. Inside it drops a wildflower. It’s a little worse for wear, having endured several frosts and a snowfall, but most of its petals are still intact.
“Aww.” I smile in surprise.
“It was growing inside the barn, up in the loft. Had to get a ladder to reach it.”
I don’t trust that barn. It’s crooked and about five thousand years old. Picturing Nicholas scaling a ladder that leans on rotten wood is stressful. “Thanks. You shouldn’t have.”
“Yeah, well. Thought it’d be nice.”
“I really don’t need flowers.”
His stare is a death sentence. “Never mind,” I’m quick to add. “I still want them sometimes, probably.”
His mouth twitches, and he eats half of my sausage burrito in one bite. When he leaves to go shower, I admire my half-wilted flower for unfathomable reasons. There is nothing particularly interesting about this plant. In an hour’s time it will be most of the way dead. I think I’m going to blame society for wanting it, anyway.
Societal norms have conditioned me into thinking I need these dying plants in order to feel loved and appreciated. They’re objectively useless and I know that. But it’s the thought I’ll remember, not the color of the flower or how pretty it is. The gesture of Nicholas seeing the flower, thinking about me, and going and getting a ladder in order to pick it is going to stay with me. Watching him drop it into my favorite blue-green drinking glass is going to stay with me.
When I’m finished getting dressed and ready, Nicholas is wearing a green henley I don’t think I’ve ever seen on him before, and it makes the jade in his color-shifting eyes spark. The neckline is wide enough that I get a good look at his collarbones. Good heavens. The man’s got a fabulous set of collarbones. Then I notice the rounded caps of his shoulders. The heavens are very good, indeed.
He’s whistling as he fills the sink with soapy water and starts washing dishes for the first time all year. I gape at Changeling Nicholas and give myself heart problems.
He’s styled his hair differently, letting the soft curls fall loosely across his forehead instead of slicking them back. I helplessly draw closer, until I’m definitely invading his personal space. Is it the hair? The shirt? The flower? The fact that he’s doing housework unasked? Whatever it is, he’s a hundred times hotter today. If he starts sweeping the floor and cleaning out lint traps, I might need smelling salts.
Nicholas’s busy hands in the sink fall still when I touch his face. “You have a nice jawline,” I tell him, hearing the wonder in my voice.
He blinks as he looks away. “Um. Thank you.”
“Your throat, too.” It’s a tragedy that I haven’t noticed what a nice throat he has. Who knew nice throats were a thing?
My unabashed ogling is doing things to him; his throat turns red and splotchy before my eyes. I twirl my flower and watch him do the dishes like a total creep until I get myself together. Whenever I break my gaze I feel his moving over me, and I’m pulled back in again. He keeps catching me sneaking sideways looks at him, and I’m positive he’s caught me silently mouthing Oh my god. The more flustered I get, the wider his smile grows.
I don’t analyze it too deeply when I decide I need to change into a better shirt and touch up my lipstick. It’s Thanksgiving, and that’s the only reason I camouflage my micro-bangs with a headband and curl my hair. You have to look your best on the holidays. You have to switch out your beige bra for black lace and spritz yourself with body spray called DEVOUR ME. I don’t make these rules.
I discover a unicorn in the bathroom: he’s wiped down the sink after shaving. There isn’t a single hair clinging to the faucet. It’s the invasion of the body snatchers.
It’s this detail that makes me generous enough to go start the car and get it warmed up for us. As I lumber out into the cold to switch on the ignition, I am a hero. I’m the most selfless fiancée who ever lived. I nearly slip on a patch of ice and for a split second I imagine myself in a hospital bed, leg raised up in one of those sling thingies, Nicholas fussing over me and fluffing my pillow.