8. Meteors and Makeovers

MARIGOLD

T uesday goes by in a blur of teaching and cleaning, but on Wednesday, I’m committed to babysitting Hawthorne and Crickett’s brood so they have a date night - or date afternoon, since their children are so young. It’s something I do every other Wednesday. Hawthorne is cool with my temporary home, so I’m left with the task of entertaining a toddler and young child in Jasper’s cabin.

Oh, and I may have forgotten to tell Jasper about it.

“Ready to add the salt?” I ask Daisy, holding my breath as she wobbles the measuring cup on the edge of the bowl.

Jasper steps through the front door and stops short, blinking at the young guests we have. “Hey guys, what’s going on?”

Daisy spills the cup of salt half in the bowl and half over my hand and across the counter.

Smiling maybe a little too wide, I say, “I’m babysitting. Want to help make some playdough?” Sighing, I sweep the salt into my palm and dump it into the bowl.

He recovers quickly, shucking off his hoodie and crouching beside Dahlia’s blanket to ruffle her dark curls before joining us in the kitchen. “It’s like making cookies?”

“Easier, because you don’t have to bake them.” Daisy holds onto the edge of the spoon while I begin to stir in the salt.

“Cool, what’s in it?” He pokes at the lumpy dough.

“Flour, salt, cream of tartar, water, and whatever we use to make it smell good or add color,” I quote from memory. It’s not my first time making playdough.

To my horror, Jasper pinches a blob of dough from the bowl and pops it into his mouth. His eyes go wide and with a quick jolt, he spits the dough into the sink.

“It’s pretty salty,” I say apologetically.

Turning back with a strained smile, he says, “I know that now.”

Daisy snorts between laughs. Once she’s recovered, she narrows her eyes at Jasper. “You can add the flavor if you want, normally it’s my job. You can borrow it if you really want. ”

“Really? What flavor are we making this delicious dough?” he says, playing along. My hands tighten on the bowl, resisting the urge to hug him. He doesn’t have to help entertain her.

“Pumpkin spice!” Daisy blurts.

Frowning, I look between her and Jasper. “But it’s spring time. Pumpkin spice is for fall.”

“So?” Daisy says, little hands going to her hips.

Jasper smirks and our eyes meet, exasperation mingled with amusement. “What makes up pumpkin spice? Because I definitely don’t have any pumpkin.” He opens the spice cabinet. I’m concerned how old most of those seasonings are because they probably came with the cabin, but it won’t matter for playdough.

Clicking my nails on the bowl, I try to recall. “Cinnamon for sure.”

“Done,” Jasper says, plunking the little glass jar down.

“Nutmeg and allspice?” I guess. He has nutmeg but not allspice. “Oh, and ginger, of course.”

“And again, we have success. Three out of the four isn’t too bad.”

Daisy nods enthusiastically. She reaches for the ginger. Jasper takes the bowl while she sprinkles the pungent spice over the dough. They make a great team, so I go to Dahlia and lift her onto my hip so she can watch her sister pour an ungodly amount of cinnamon into the dough.

“Watch it with the cinnamon. That can bother your skin,” I say. Jasper takes hold of the jar to temper Daisy’s enthusiastic shaking .

I can’t help but smile as Jasper struggles to mix in the spices.

“It’s probably time to knead it by hand,” I say.

Jasper hesitates only a second. Then he’s plopping the lump onto sprinkled flour and folding it over with his palms. Watching his hands work is mesmerizing.

“Have you kneaded dough before?”

He shrugs. “I may have been watching sourdough videos online. Like where they decorate them all fancy.”

“Impressive,” I say, my eyes following his rhythmic folding and stretching.

Baby Dahlia tugs sharply on a lock of my hair, pulling me from my stupor. Wincing, I extract my hair and begin bouncing on the balls of my feet to keep her happy. She’s getting too big for this.

“How does that look?” Jasper asks, his expression vulnerable.

“Great. Can you toss it in that plastic bag?” He complies and zips the edge closed. I grasp the bowl and take it to the sink with my free hand.

“Why don’t you guys go play and I’ll clean up,” Jasper suggests. But Daisy growls her disagreement and seizes his hand.

“Go,” I say. “I’ve got this, and you could do with some fun.” He takes Dahlia from me and follows Daisy. She drags him toward the bathroom. While I wipe down the counter, Daisy brushes his pale hair and begins to wrap tiny rubber bands around tufts of it.

When Jasper walks out again, I can hardly breathe for the laughter shaking my entire body .

“Glad you’re amused,” he growls.

“You’re so pretty,” Daisy coos, her hands holding Dahlia’s to help her sister bumble across the wood floor.

Jasper comes up behind me, hands hugging my waist. “Don’t you think I’m pretty too?”

“Very much,” I say, twisting to face him. Fingers linked behind his neck, I admire Daisy’s styling. “And you smell amazing,” I say, leaning closer to smell the sprinkle of nutmeg and ginger across his chest.

“Careful,” he rumbles. My heart jumps into my throat at the sly smirk on his handsome face.

Feeling flustered, I turn back to the girls. “You guys want to paint? We’ve got to go outside, and we need to put on extra shirts.” Daisy claps and Dahlia squeals. I can feel Jasper’s eyes on me, but he stays quiet.

It doesn’t take long to outfit the girls with smocks and fingerpaints. I lay a stretch of butcher paper across the ground. The girls happily draw rainbow lines and dots across the paper.

Exhausted, I drop into the closest hammock. I don’t mean for my eyes to close, but I can monitor them with my inhuman hearing.

“Oh, this looks good,” Jasper says. Sitting up, I look from him to the girls. My mouth falls open. The girls have moved from their canvas to the exterior wall of the cabin. So much for monitoring them.

“I’m so sorry,” I stutter, rushing to grab their hands and peel them away from their defacement. “Daisy, you know better. ”

“I was serious, I think it looks great,” Jasper says, chuckling.

Hawthorne and Crickett pick that moment to arrive as I’m still staring at the girls’ artwork. Leaning in, I hiss, “I’ll clean this up.” We rush back to the porch to present the girls to their parents, tugging their smocks off as we go.

“We painted the house!” Daisy blurts, looking proud. Crickett’s mouth tightens into a concerned frown.

“Don’t worry about it. Just a little finger paint. It washes off easily,” I assure her.

“I want my playdough!” Daisy whines.

Crouching, I look into her eyes. “We talked about how that playdough is for the classroom. You can play with it tomorrow with your friends. Remember?”

“Oh, right,” she says. Hawthorne rolls his eyes at his daughter’s antics and leads his little family away.

“Thank you, Marigold. You are the best!” Crickett hollers over her shoulder.

Once they’re gone, I unfurl the hose and begin to spray the log siding. The paint runs down, making puddles swirling with pink and blue. As I’m stepping closer to concentrate on a particularly stubborn area, the snap of a branch startles me. Swinging toward the noise, the hose comes with me.

The water is still pressurized from my hold on the hose, and the spray soaks Jasper from chest to knees in a split second.

His surprised expression is so cute and my nerves so frayed, that I can’t help but burst into a fit of giggles. For a moment, he blinks at me, mouth slightly open. The hose sprays into the dirt at my feet.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, fighting back another fit of giggles. Spell broken, he stalks forward, reaching for the hose in my hands, but I twist away.

“Marigold, give that to me,” he says, his low voice caressing my skin. He sounds far too calm for someone scrambling to take something out of my grasp.

“No way!” I say, backing up a few steps and grinning like a maniac. But Jasper is incredibly quick, and when he darts forward, I cannot react in time. His arms clamp around mine, and in the struggle, water shoots straight up and covers us like rain.

“Happy now?” he asks, water dripping off his nose and eyelashes.

“Yeah, I am,” I snicker, trudging over to turn off the hose he’s now pointing at the ground.

We stretch out on the wooden floor of the patio, letting ourselves dry before we traipse across the cabin’s wood floors.

Stretching my neck to look at Jasper, I say, “I forgot to ask, how goes the Alpha Counsel prep?”

“Fine. We spent ages going over everyone we know from each pack that might be there. And I know a lot of them, but it’s still a lot of new names to learn.”

He looks up at the beams above us, the fading evening light haloing his profile. He’s breathtaking.

“So your parents will be there,” I say quietly, “And maybe your sister?”

“Maybe. I’m not sure how much they’re training her, since she’s their heir now and everything. They won’t bring her if she isn’t ready to make a good showing.”

“Have you talked to her at all?”

He turns his head, aqua eyes meeting mine. “The two times I texted her, she sent back a picture of her middle finger.”

“That gets the point across, I guess.”

His lips curl in amusement.

“Would you try to talk to her if she comes?”

“If I can. But I doubt I’ll get a chance.”

“Are you okay with that?” I probe, my tone gentle.

He sighs, turning his head back and staring at the ceiling. “No, but it’s her choice. It’s a two way street. And to be realistic, she’d probably try to gut me given the chance.”

“That serious?” I ask, my brows furrowing.

“That’s just a Tuesday for Ember,” he says, fondness in his voice.

“How did you turn out so normal?” I joke.

He sits up, one eyebrow raised in challenge. “Maybe I’m not that normal, after all.”

“Normal is overrated,” I mutter, climbing to my feet. The dripping has mostly stopped, and I’m ready for a fresh set of clothes.

JASPER

The week slips by, a blur of planning and training drills. Slate takes his anxiety out on all of us during training, and Fisher is ecstatic to let us sweat .

Friday is the worst. Setting up tables and chairs on a remote corner of our territory is not a pleasant task. But the entire team pulls together and we get the job done. Once it’s finished, I’m covered in dirt and sweat. We hike back as humans. Everyone is getting hungry and hungry wolves are usually grumpy.

Brushing my hands together, I cross the clearing back toward home. If I hurry, I should have enough time to shower before dinner.

Marigold’s voice filters around the training building, and I can’t help but detour. Coming around the back of the building, my feet slow when I see her. Her glorious hair is pulled into a high ponytail and her hands grip a crossbow. She looks like a warrior goddess.

Cassia, Fern, and Hazel watch her, giving out tips and encouragement. Cassia and Fern are both accomplished fighters, and Hazel has taken to the training like she’s been here her entire life. I couldn’t have put together a better group for Marigold to train with.

With a vicious grin, Marigold levels the barrel of the crossbow at the plywood target. Narrowing her eyes, she fires. The arrow embeds dead center. Pride wells in my chest.

She resets and shoots again, another perfect shot. After the third time, I realize she’s more than proficient, she’s incredible with a crossbow. It’s wildly sexy and terrifying at the same time.

Cassia, Fern, and Hazel all whoop and cheer her on, covering up the sounds of my approach .

Marigold hops on the balls of her feet, looking pleased with herself. As she turns toward her friends, she catches sight of me. The last thing I want is to interrupt her training, so I simply raise an eyebrow and smirk.

As I’m turning away, Fern spots me. “Jasper, come see if you can challenge Marigold. None of the rest of us can best her.”

Marigold’s smile is apologetic. “He spent the whole day setting up for the counsel tomorrow. I’m sure he doesn’t want to.”

“Are you scared to go up against me?” I dare.

“You’re going to regret that,” Hazel says with a dark laugh.

Marigold loads the crossbow and hands it over. “Are you familiar with this style?”

“Yeah, it looks about the same,” I murmur, brushing her hand with mine before she steps back, looking expectant.

With a slow breath, I level the muzzle at the target, already a pincushion for her bolts. One more breath, focus on steadying my hands, and I shoot.

It hits the target on the outside edge. But at least it doesn’t fly off into the trees.

“That was really good,” Marigold says. If I didn’t know her so well, I wouldn’t catch the patronizing undertones.

“Thank you,” I say, stepping closer than necessary to hand the weapon back. She reloads and with practiced motions, shoots a bolt within a millimeter of mine .

“Show off,” I huff. She grins, warmth and sunshine flooding my blood, and the embarrassment is entirely worth it.

“Go relax. I’ll stop by before it’s time for dinner,” she says quietly. The sudden urge to kiss her, maybe on the forehead, pushes me a half-step forward before I catch myself.

She’s already passing the crossbow off to Hazel and giving her tips as I stiffly walk away.

After my shower, I come out of my bedroom in clean clothes with my hair still damp. Marigold sits on the sofa with her feet tucked up. It looks like she’s waiting for me.

“You look kinda tired,” she says sweetly.

Shrugging, I plop down next to her. “Thanks,” I say with a sarcastic smirk. “Though I can’t say the same about you. Beautiful as always.”

Her smile turns shy. “Hazel invited us to hang out after dinner.”

“Campfire?”

“No, apparently there’s some meteor shower. I guess they usually watch it together, but she thought we might like to join them.” Reading between the lines - no Cedar or Onyx. Just the two of us hanging out with another couple.

“I like the sound of that. But do you want to?” I ask cautiously.

“Yeah, it sounds fun. We should bring a couple of blankets though.” She pops up and takes my hand, pulling me toward dinner .

I don’t let go of her hand until the trees part to reveal the rest of our pack chattering away.

Plate full, I settle at our group’s favorite table. Benches creak as friends join us, eating and laughing. The stories and jokes wash over me. I’m happy to soak up the warm familiarity. The light slowly fades and my thoughts center around the girl beside me and our plans for what sounds suspiciously like a double date.

MARIGOLD

“This is the Lyrid meteor shower. It’ll be better the later it gets, heading toward morning. But I know tomorrow is a big day, so I didn’t want to keep us up too late,” Hazel says, squeezing Slate’s hand.

We hike toward the cliffside, enjoying the sounds of the woods after dark. Bugs chirp and little nocturnal animals rustle as they start their days.

Jasper walks beside me, glancing over every few steps. My heart jolts as his hand brushes against mine. It must be a mistake. But when it happens again, like electricity zinging through me, I start to doubt.

Instead of making a fool of myself, I wrap my arm around his bicep. It allows me to touch him and eliminates the awkward brush of our hands. This is how friends walk together. Right?

From the smug look on his face, I’m not so sure.

The trees open up to a million stars. I’ve lived here my entire life, but it still fills me with a sense of wonder .

The sounds of the river below are louder in the night. Without speaking, the boys spread the blankets out a few feet away from each other and we all settle.

I should not feel this nervous, but my heart races as I unfold our second blanket and drape it over our legs. Already the air is turning icy, but that isn’t what causes me to shiver. It’s the heavy silence and the heat of the man next to me.

Jasper misreads my shiver and pulls me down against his side so his arm cushions my head. His other hand draws the blanket up to cover all of me. Luckily, Hazel and Slate are too wrapped up in each other to pay us any attention. It’s still silent, but now the blood rushing in my ears drowns out even the sounds of the water.

“So we’re looking for shooting stars coming from the south and we should get to see one every five minutes or so. But maybe less because the moon is fairly full.” Hazel’s voice cuts through my haze.

The moon drenches the sky around it, washing out the stars' lesser light. It’s almost entirely full, and I know that phase means our instinctual urges are stronger. That must be what’s happening, because the heat of Jasper’s body is burning me, branding my soul.

“You need to relax,” he whispers, turning so his lips brush the shell of my ear. Flinching, I stiffen further. “What’s wrong?”

Deep breath, slow exhale. “I guess I’m feeling jumpy,” I whisper back.

Jasper nods, a hardly perceptible motion. Instead of letting it go, he runs his free hand down my arm and takes my hand. His thumb digs into the pressure point between my thumb and index finger and it takes all my self-control to keep my gasp silent. Releasing, he massages my palm until I relax into him.

Limply, I offer my other hand to him, and he repeats the process. He’d probably start on my shoulders too, but we are distracted by the first shooting star streaking across the sky. It fades as quickly as it started. I can’t help but let out an excited squeak.

Jasper’s head turns again, his breath warm on my cheek. “You’re adorable.”

“Like in an annoying way?” I bat my eyelashes at him. He chuckles and turns back to the glittering sky.

His answer comes after a long delay, so quiet I almost miss it. “Like perfection.”

He rests his hand across my stomach, right above my belly button. It’s under the blanket, so our friends can’t see how his fingers spread out to touch more of me over my cotton shirt.

Another light catches my attention, followed by another star close behind it. As more meteors cross the sky, the majesty of it captures me. I can’t look away, although I am always painfully aware of Jasper beside me. My hands have moved to his bicep, gripping him like he’s my emotional support childhood blankie. His muscles ripple as his thumb strokes down my midriff. The motions are lazy, as if he isn’t aware of what he is doing.

It seems cheap to interrupt the majesty of stars streaking across the sky, and I can barely keep my breath even, so I don’t even attempt speech. Slowly, I melt against him and forget everything but the stars above and his touch .

Jasper wakes me up with a soft touch to my cheek. “Marigold, we better get home. Tomorrow is a big day.”

He tucks one of the blankets around me as we walk back, keeping his hands on my waist. Hazel and Slate say their goodbyes and head eastward.

In our cozy cabin, Jasper leads me to his bedroom, takes off my shoes, and trades my blanket for the comforter. I don’t even remember him climbing in beside me. My sleep is dreamless.