Page 23 of A Love Like Pumpkin Spice (Wayward Hollow #1)

Nic

“What do you need?” Lauren asks me as we step out of Caleb’s café and gives my arm a reassuring squeeze. I stare at her, not quite understanding the question. “A friend? Your boyfriend? To be left alone?” she elaborates, and that’s when I get it.

“I … don’t know,” I tell her and let out a long, deep sigh. The moment Jay stepped out of Caleb’s, exhaustion took me under with the force of a tsunami. “Right now, I need to not decide what I need, if that makes sense.”

“I got her,” Henry offers, and Lauren stops in front of us. Her eyes dart from Henry, who’s snaking his arm around my waist, to Jensen coming to a stop in front of me, and then back to me. Suddenly, her gaze softens.

“I sure hope you do.” She steps closer for a quick hug before she links her arm with Kieran’s, and the two of them walk off, whispering and with a little spring in their steps.

“When did they become best friends?” I point at the two of them, confused. Henry shrugs.

“Probably somewhere between a midnight feeding for Pumpkin and finding Cinnamon,” he jokes. “I think they both hang out at Caleb’s a lot. Probably then.”

“Huh.” I take a deep breath of the cool evening air. The sun is setting, the sky a cloudless pale orange.

“ Let me get you home?” Henry asks, and I glance up at him. There’s a tiny wrinkle forming between his eyebrows, worry creasing his usually smooth, charming face.

Ugh. Concern looks good on him. Annoyingly good.

“I’m not about to break down,” I quickly assure him, but let him lead me to his car.

Good thing we shared Lauren’s on the way here.

“Can’t say it was easy to see him, but I’ve had two months, a lot of ice cream, and shouting along to sad songs to process that cheating motherfucker. The breakdown days are behind me.”

“It’s still a lot for one day,” he points out, and the sincerity in his voice covers me like a warm blanket, making me take a sharp breath. “It’s okay not to be okay.”

I gulp around the knot suddenly making itself at home in my throat and focus intently on the gazebo across the street as I try not to cry. That charming, Hallmark-movie little thing, peeking out from between the trees as if it’s eavesdropping on my personal crisis.

That caught me off guard. After a lifetime of “pull yourself together” or “stop whining,” someone saying this , in that soft, sincere tone that doesn’t ask me to be strong or charming or anything other than sad for a hot second—it messes with me.

There’s no epiphany, no choir of angels appearing out of nowhere. Only racing thoughts and fighting the urge to cry myself into a puddle. I’m realizing that for once, someone who’s not Lauren gives a damn about me.

That little thought occupies my brain, and I hold on to it, as if it might evaporate until we arrive at my place.

“Sorry you always have to go out of your way to come here,” I whisper. But before the last word passes through my lips, Henry grabs my chin and turns my face to him with a gentle, yet steady touch.

“This is not ‘out of my way,’” he says firmly, voice low and resolute.

His eyes are scanning mine, searching for the answer to an unspoken question.

“Nic, this is the bare minimum. But you’ve got to let me in.

Tell me what is happening, so I can help.

Even if that only means being there for you while you spiral into an emotional puddle. ”

“I don’t want to be a burden,” I protest weakly, trying to avert my gaze, but he gently turns my face back to him.

“You’re not.”

Two words.

Two ridiculously cheesy, yet earth-tilting words. They land harder than a punch, knocking the air out of my lungs in the best way possible.

“But what if someday you wake up and I am?” I ask, my voice breaking. He lets out a breath and tilts his head, eyebrows raised, and I brace for a loving schooling.

“Does that mean you think one day I might suddenly become one?” His voice is calm but pointed. And honestly? If we weren’t having such a deep moment, that eyebrow raise might be illegal levels of hot.

“No. No, of course not,” I answer quickly, relieved when that pained expression melts.

“See?” he asks, now almost sounding amused. “Then why the hell would I think you would be? Come on, let’s get inside.”

Once inside, he makes me hang out with the animals while he prepares our dinner. When I try to check in and ask if I can help, he promptly sends me back to the living room.

But I‘m restless.

I’m willing them to go away, but I keep hearing Jay’s and my family’s voices in my head. Their voicemails I couldn’t resist listening to when I needed to remind myself why leaving and cuttin g them out was my only option for a life that I’m allowed to be happy in.

“You should be the bigger person.”

“You’re the most selfish person I know. It’s not that big of a deal. You’re tearing the family apart!”

“I can’t believe you’d ignore your own sister over this. You need to grow up.”

Pumpkin and Cinnamon are having the time of their lives, tumbling around the living room like it’s their own personal bounce house. Meanwhile Jensen Ackles naps by the window, soaking up the last few rays of sunlight as though he’s trying to store them for winter.

By the time Henry finishes making dinner, the three of them have migrated to the couch. Cinnamon is snoozing in my lap. Pumpkin has curled up in the pocket of my cardigan and claimed it as her new nest. Jensen is softly snoring at my feet.

I almost don’t have the heart to move them.

They look so peaceful, as if they’re draped for a furry little family portrait.

But eventually, my stomach growls louder than my conscience.

So I gently shift the cats onto the couch and ease my legs out from under Jensen’s warm, heavy weight and make my way to the kitchen.

We eat quietly, but it’s the good kind of silence. And God, he’s a ridiculously good cook. Is there anything this man can’t do?

It’s not the kind of silence I knew growing up, the kind that stung, that made me feel invisible. Back then, silence meant distance, meant I’d said the wrong thing or was better off saying nothing at all.

Every little win of mine brushed aside for something half-hearted my sister did. I was always a few steps behind in a race I never even signed up for.

But this … this is different. This silence settles over us like a soft blanket. No tension, no pressure to fill the air. Just two people, letting the day sink in, sorting through their thoughts side by side.

It’s the kind of silence that makes you want to live in it. The kind that makes you feel at home.

Until suddenly, a glass falls off the counter and makes us jump.

“What the hell was that?” Henry asks, clutching his chest and eyes darting around, confused.

“Oh, that’s Chaos.” I shrug and get up to put our plates into the dishwasher. “She loves to push glasses off the kitchen island. It’s kind of her thing.”

“You’re kidding, right?” He stares at me with wide eyes and mouth agape.

“Not at all.” I chuckle and pick up the glass. By some mysterious grace, it’s shattered into just two pieces—instead of a mountain of sharp shards that could slice open the paw of any living animal. How considerate.

So I wipe up the spilled water and put anything made of glass further away from the edge, in case she’s not done. “She always knocks stuff off counters. I’d be careful with your sunglasses over there.” He immediately jumps up to scoot them to the middle of the kitchen island.

“What—” He suddenly turns, looking around frantically.

“Hah!” I point my finger at him. “You didn’t believe me, but she’s rubbing against your calves, isn’t she?”

His eyes widen, and his mouth pops open as he gapes at me in shock. “For the record, I didn’t not believe you. But how do you know?”

“Because I’ve been living with her for a while now,” I explain with a grin and get the cat food ready for my alive pets. “I got some of your dog food in that cupboard over there.”

I point to my right, and he heads over, though not without throwing a wary glance back toward the spot he’s convinced Chaos is lurking in.

He preps Jensen’s food, and sure e nough, the moment the first bag crinkles open, they all come charging into the kitchen with the force of a furry stampede on a mission.

Pumpkin is now big enough for regular cat food.

And while she still loves to wake me up in the middle of the night because she thinks she’s hungry, my living situation has become far more relaxed.

No wonder my ex had to turn up now to disturb the peace I made for myself with his unpredictable ideas.

“So,” he starts and turns from where he’s sitting on the couch, pulling up his leg to better face me. “What was the credit card thing about?”

“Right.” I take a deep breath and pinch the bridge of my nose. I wish this was some annoying dream, but I’m slowly losing hope.

“After I left your clinic, I got a call from my financial adviser. She told me that someone opened credit cards in my name and wanted to confirm it wasn’t me.

As soon as she knew, she froze all of them.

I think that’s why Jay turned up here: I shut off his money faucet.

No idea how he found out where I live now, though.

” I roll my eyes, but anger is burning in my gut.

“After that call, I went to Erik and filed a police report. I’m also pretty sure my sister is in on it somehow, but there is no evidence yet.

I hope she won’t turn up here, too.” I cross my arms in front of my chest. “Honestly, if she disappeared forever, I’d throw a party.

Hats. Cake. Confetti. Possibly a parade.

Though maybe in hindsight I’m not unthankful that she showed me who Jay really is. ”

I want to leave it at that, but from the corner of my eye, I see him gazing at me intently , so interested, that it tumbles out of me.

“ You know, she was supposed to be an only child. That was made painfully clear from the start—by my parents, and honestly, by her too. Then came one reckless night, too much wine, and … surprise! Nine months later, enter me.”

He gently untangles my arms, taking my hand in his. He presses a kiss to the back of it, soft and grounding.

“I was always in the way,” I say quietly. “Too loud. Too boring. Too me. Maybe that’s why I’ve turned into this emotionally constipated oversharer now.” I try to laugh and break the sudden heaviness in the air, but it comes out thin. He doesn’t laugh—just gives my hand a firm, reassuring squeeze.

I glance down at our hands, his thumb tracing slow circles on my skin as if he’s trying to calm down the storm under it.

“My happiness offended them somehow. Any glimpse of joy I had was a personal inconvenience. I thought moving out would fix that. Thought having my own life would mean I could finally breathe, finally be seen.”

I swallow hard, voice trembling now. “And then the acting thing took off. It was a means to an end, something I was good at. It turned into a way to earn money and move out of that toxic household, but all of a sudden, everything turned around. Suddenly, I wasn’t only tolerated, I was impressive .

Desirable. People wanted me around. I thought maybe, just maybe, my parents would finally see me too. Maybe they’d even be proud.”

I blink up fast, but the tears spill over anyway—those disloyal pricks—and I swipe at them with a little too much force.

“But ultimately, friendships in show business are superficial. At some point, I became distrustful because everyone I met had some kind of hidden agenda. At some point, many people forgot that Nic Duncan is a real person and not just a means to an end.”

I take a deep breath.

“Anyway, you can probably guess that my so-called family wasn't exactly an exception. They played nice, bragged about me to their friends like I managed to get where I was because of the m, not despite them. They did it only long enough to keep me hopeful. And then it all blew up when I found Jay and my sister whispering their mutual dislike for me and making plans to steal my money during what was supposed to be our engagement party.”

I pause, taking a deep, breath that seems to scrape my ribs on the way in. “Lauren got me out of there. I had a few breakdowns, then pulled my life together. Lauren found the lakeside mansions, and I moved on, moved away. And … well. The rest is history.”

Finally, I lift my gaze. And for once, I don’t feel the need to brace myself for what I might find in someone’s eyes.

“I’m sorry. I bet you thought you’d get an uncomplicated girlfriend but instead, picked one with next-level self-esteem issues and a whole wagon of emotional baggage.”

“And I wouldn’t want it any different,” he assures me and lifts his arm. Immediately, I scoot closer to him, until it lowers back over my shoulders, a reassuring weight as he pulls me to him and presses his lips against my forehead.

“What if I become too much? I’m … like a storm. I destroy everything around me.”

“Then I’ll be a mountain. You won’t blow me away, you won’t knock me down. I’ll always be there.”