Page 43 of A Love Like Pumpkin Spice (Wayward Hollow #1)

Henry

“Can we stay in and cuddle?” Nic asks me with wide eyes, her gaze darting between the couch and me. “I don’t feel like being in public.”

She’s been crestfallen ever since Erik gave us the bad news, most of her usual spark has dimmed. As always, she tries to mask it with sarcasm, but I know her better: she’s tired. Tired of dealing with her ex, tired of her sister, tired of never being able to check that box and be done with it.

It must be exhausting, never getting the clean break she deserves. Just when she starts to move on, something always pulls her right back into the mess.

“Of course,” I assure her quickly, following her to the couch. Jensen, Pumpkin, and Cinnamon are already waiting for us there, glancing up from their naps as we join them.

I’d wanted to take her on another proper date.

A quiet, cozy restaurant a few towns over, run by Iona, the sweetest Italian woman you’ll ever meet, who also happens to make the best pasta within a five-hour radius.

And yes, I absolutely wanted to impress Nic.

But the moment Erik opened his mouth back at Caleb’s, I knew that today wasn’t going to be the day for that.

There is too much going on in that beautiful head of hers, too much anxiety for her to enjoy herself. What she needs right now is love, to cuddle with her cats and, hopefully, me, and some quiet as she processes her emotions.

“Come here,” I say, lifting my arm once I’m settled on the couch. Without missing a beat, she grabs her blanket, drapes it over us, and snuggles into my side. The moment I pull her closer, her whole body relaxes against mine and a deep sigh falls from her lips.

“What are you in the mood for?”

“I don’t care. You decide.” She hands me the remote. “I don’t want to use my brain.”

She might claim she doesn’t care what we watch, but I’ve learned to read the signs. A little nose wrinkle? Not a fan. Slight eye-widening? That’s a maybe. Any kind of seat adjustment? That one’s a winner—she’s invested.

And after the day she’s had, I figure it should be her pick, even if she won’t verbalize it. So I scroll through our options, gauging her responses until I land on a cartoon. Sure enough, she snuggles even closer into my side, putting one of her legs over mine.

“This one sounds interesting,” I say and press play.

“Really?” she asks, lifting her eyebrow at me, surprised. “I didn’t take you for a cartoon guy.”

“No, I totally am,” I lie through my teeth, tossing the remote aside and pulling her other leg over my lap as well, drawing random patterns on her knees with my thumb.

It doesn’t take the animals long to join our cuddle-ball. Jensen lies down over my feet, the not-so-little heating pad that he is, while Cinnamon climbs into Nic’s lap and Pumpkin … well, Pumpkin is currently trying to climb the wall, not very successfully.

“God, that cat,” Nic mumbles, watching her jump up. “Sometimes I watch her, and I could swear there’s not a single thought behind those little eyes.”

“ Not a thought, but plenty of dumb ideas,” I agree with a chuckle and watch as Pumpkin diverts her attention to her reflection in the window, promptly hissing at it.

Suddenly, Jensen bolts upright and takes off, sprinting out of the room while barking loudly.

“What the—?” I start, already on my feet, my heart rate picking up.

Then I hear it. The unmistakable sound of someone fiddling with Nic’s front door lock, then a thud as that person tries to push or kick the door open.

My eyes snap to hers. She’s completely still—wide-eyed and frozen in place, pale as a ghost.

“Are you expecting anyone?” I ask, my voice low, already scanning the room for a weapon.

She shakes her head.

“I have a gun,” she whispers, and quickly jumps up, to run over to her cupboard, fumbling with a key hidden under one of the books and unlocking a drawer.

“You’re not handling a gun in this state,” I hiss when she takes it out with trembling hands, and she hands it to me.

I take it carefully, fingers steady despite the way my pulse is picking up and echoes in my ears. Dad taught me about guns in my teens. “Just in case,” he’d said. It hasn’t come in handy until today, and holy fuck, am I now glad that he taught me.

I eject the mag, check the chamber, then give the slide a slow rack, to make sure everything is moving how it should.

It’s in decent shape. Not new but well-kept. I slide the magazine back in and click the safety on, keeping the barrel pointed low.

“Go upstairs and lock yourself in a room,” I whisper as we slowly and quietly make our way to the hallway, peeking around the doorframe to see what’s going on. But all we can see ar e shadows.

“Henry, I’m not leaving you down here alone,” she hisses back, furrowing her eyebrows and shaking her head.

I stare at her for a beat. Then nod. Quietly and resignedly. She’s stubborn as hell. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find it oddly reassuring now. I take a deep breath and straighten up. Trying to exude self-confidence. I take a step into the hallway. The gun raised, aimed at the front door.

“Stay outside! We’re armed!” I call out loudly, forcing myself to take deep breaths and keep my hands steady.

“Fuck you!” I hear a slurred male voice reply and shoot Nic a glance. Two words and we both know exactly who is trying to break in. Who is kicking down her door.

Pumpkin is hiding somewhere in the living room, but Cinnamon is next to Jensen. Her fur puffed up like a feather duster. Her ears flattened and tail twitching with laser focus on the door. Jensen is next to her. He doesn’t move. He’s coiled tight. A low growl rumbling deep in his chest.

“I’ll say it one more time,” I shout, rolling my shoulders as I prepare for the inevitable. “I have a gun. Go away now, or I’ll shoot!”

But instead of an answer, the door bursts open, nearly tearing off its hinges from the pressure of Jay kicking it in. He looks feral: bloodshot eyes, wild movements, and anger seeping from his every pore. I’m not sure what he’s on, but the guy is not sober.

“He kicked down the door, Erik. Please hurry,” I hear Nic whisper behind me, and I breathe a quick sigh of relief. My brain had gone straight to defense mode—I hadn’t even thought of calling the police.

“Stay right where you are!” I warn Jay, aiming the gun at him, but he shakes his head, taking a step toward us.

“I’m not leaving without what I deserve!”

I ’m not even sure what his plan is. He doesn’t have a weapon, only lifting his hands as if he’s about to challenge me to a boxing fight. I bet this whole thing made a lot more sense in his head.

“Well, you’re not taking anything from here,” I snap, aiming straight at his groin, hoping that will stop him, but apparently, he’s not overly concerned about his reproduction possibilities. What the hell? You’d think a guy would be somewhat protective of his dick.

Jensen is about to snap, growling and baring his teeth at the intruder.

“Don’t you fucking tell me what to do!” Jay snarls, stumbling closer. “You fucking hillbilly son of a bitch!”

He grabs a vase blindly, weighing it in his hand to gauge its weapon-potential. Before I can act, he lifts it to throw it at me—and that’s when Jensen launches. One loud bark, and then within the blink of an eye, his teeth are buried in Jay’s arm.

“What the fuck?” Jay screams, surprised and in pain, staggering backward as Jensen refuses to let go. Did he seriously not see the big, snarling husky right in front of him?

“Get your fucking dog off me!” he shouts, letting the vase fall to the ground, where it shatters into thankfully big pieces and waves his arm, trying to shake Jensen off. But it only makes him bite harder. “This fucking hurts!”

“Why would I call him off?” I reply calmly, ever so slightly lowering the gun, silently relieved that I won’t have a human life on my conscience today. And because my aim is really not the best.

“You said they weren’t home!” a second voice snaps, and that’s when I realize that Marissa is there, too, peeking around the broken doorframe with horror once she spots all the blood.

“Get your dog off me!” Jay whines, a stream of blood running down his arm. “He’s going to tear my arm off!” I know this situation is serious and all that, but that almost makes me grin. Does he think dogs tear off limbs like alligators? God, I wish they did.

“Why do you always mess things up?” Marissa continues to curse at him. “Get out of my way, you idiot,” Marissa snarls, trying to push past him, and trudges inside as if she owns the place.

I lift the gun again, about to tell her to get the fuck out, when I notice a warm presence next to me.

“Get out,” Nic says coldly and steps up next to me, arms crossed in front of her chest. “We’re armed. You’re trespassing. And I think you underestimate how happy it would make me if Henry shot you.”

“You don’t mean that,” Marissa says, with that same venomous smile she wore on stage at the autumn fair. Yet there’s a tinge of desperation in her voice. “You have no idea what you—oh my God!”

Cinnamon—sweet, tiny, usually lazy Cinnamon—has cannonballed onto Marissa, claws extended as she digs them into her skin, scratching up her arms and Chanel shirt.

“This is awesome,” Nic whispers, and I can only nod. The spectacle could be right out of a cartoon. “This has mad ‘mob tries to kill the beast, and the furniture attacks them’ vibes,” she continues, clearly reading my mind and I chuckle.

“The live-action one though,” I point out, making her giggle. I watch Marissa and Jay, ready to step in if they manage to grab one of the animals. But before they can do anything but whine and shout, the flicker of police lights appears in Nic’s driveway.

“Oh, thank God,” Nic whispers, and I finally lower the weapon completely, putting it on the ground in front of us.

“Henry, call off Jensen!” Erik shouts from his car, clearly fighting off his amusement at the scene.

I whistle sharply, and almost instantly, Jensen releases his grip, trotting over to me with blood on his chin and a proud smile. He’s earned a pile of treats. I never trained him to attack, but he knows that whistle means stop everything .

Thank God he obeyed.

“Nic, would you mind getting your cat?” Erik asks, the corner of his mouth twitching as he radios for EMTs.

Nic steps closer to Marissa, catching a scratch or two herself as she pulls Cinnamon off.

As soon as Cinnamon realizes the attack has ended, she wriggles out of Nic’s hold and darts into the living room.

“I assume they were trespassing?” Erik asks, and Nic nods immediately. I brush past them to carry Jensen over the spot where the vase broke. I don’t want to risk him getting any small shards in his paws.

“Yes.”

His eyes flick to the busted lock. “Destruction of property?”

She agrees again.

“Well, then, you’re under arrest,” he tells Jay, trying and failing to keep the amusement from his voice as he cuffs him. “Again.”

“I need a doctor!” Jay exclaims dramatically, trying to wriggle out of Erik’s grasp.

“Hell yes he does,” Nic mutters beside me. “The mental kind.”

Marissa is seething, steam practically coming from her ears, and there’s a perfect, deep scratch down her face.

“You’re under arrest too,” Erik says, cuffing her. “Good thing I brought a backup pair. I had a feeling …”

“You will regret this,” she hisses at Nic, who only stares at her blankly, arms crossed in front of her chest.

A new influx of blue lights round the corner to her driveway.

This time it’s an ambulance, though. Damn, they’re quick!

Must be a slow evening, apart from pet-prevented break-ins.

Erik brings the handcuffed couple over to them, to let them have a look at their injuries, and I see the exhaustion on Nic, weighing her down like a physical weight.

“Hope it leaves a scar on her face,” she mumbles, and I put my arm around her shoulders, watching her slowly relax.

“We’ll be gone in a bit,” Erik assures us and pulls out his notepad. “Can you come in tomorrow to give a report?”

“Do we have to if I’ve got camera footage?” Nic asks, pointing to a pet cam in the hallway, and Erik quickly scribbles down an email address.

“Please send it here. The more we have, the better, so I recommend you still come in. Let’s make this airtight.”

“I got it.” Nic lets out a deep sigh. “Thank you, Erik. And sorry for the trouble. See you tomorrow.”

He catches up with the EMTs, but I decide that this has been enough action for tonight. I walk Nic into the living room, handing her the gun after engaging the safety so she can lock it up again.

Then I return to the hallway, quickly cleaning up the shards of glass, Hoovering the spot for good measure, and inspecting the door.

To my surprise, it still closes and even locks properly—apparently Jay knows a thing or two about picking a lock.

I’ll have to make sure to get a deadbolt installed here.

When I return to the living room, I find Nic buried beneath a mountain of fur. Jensen is curled against her side, Pumpkin is on her chest, and even Cinnamon is perched nearby, a little shaken up. But her eyes are distant, fixated on something beyond the window, or maybe this realm.

“It’s over,” I whisper and drop to the couch beside her, pulling her into my arms and kissing the top of her head. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

“I know,” she murmurs through sobs, her tears soaking my shirt. “Thank you.”

“Nothing to thank me for,” I reply, kissing the top of her head again and holding her tighter. Though this time, it’s for my sak e. The adrenaline rushes out of me, making my hands tremble and a cold shiver run down my spine.

Fuck. I’d do anything for her.

Jensen jumps off the couch, nudging his nose against Nic’s knee and she wipes away her tears before sliding off the couch and to the ground to hug him.

“You’re my little hero,” she coos exhaustedly, completely unbothered by the traces of blood around his mouth.

“So now even Jensen gets a nickname, and I still don’t have one?” I tease her and get on the ground as well. Cinnamon joins us, rubbing her fur against my thigh, and I quickly scoop her up and hug her to my chest, where I she purrs happily.

Even through her tears, Nic shoots me a mischievous look.

“How about Gandalf? After this ‘You shall not pass’ stunt, that seems fitting. Or how about Rambo?” She tilts her head, probably thinking of even worse nicknames. “James Bond? I could shorten it to ‘Jamie.’”

I shake my head, but the giggle that escapes her lips?

It’s the sweetest damn sound I’ve heard all day.