Chapter 2 Cherry

　　Worry crept through me. For what must have been the thousandth time, I wondered if there was something wrong with me. Dylan hadn’t shown any sign of being attracted to me. He didn’t seem remotely interested in me like that. He hadn’t even kissed me, and we’d lived together for a whole year. 　　Heat flushed over my skin as one of my common fantasies played through my thoughts: Dylan’s tall, muscular form pushing through my bedroom door, his dark eyes claiming mine before he took me in his arms and kissed me. But that’s where the fantasy petered out as it so often did. After all, I didn’t have much experience in that department. Who was I trying to fool? I didn’t have any sexual experience. 　　Nothing. 　　Helplessness whirled through me. The truth was, since being told by our Alpha and Luna that Dylan was my fated mate, I’d grown up with the idea that things between us would just happen. It’s not that I’d intentionally kept myself for Dylan, but I suppose, looking back when I’d fantasized about kissing someone, and then whenever I pleasured myself it was always Dylan I pictured. 　　Frustrated, I stole out of my room and into the kitchen, turning on the light. The days were only just beginning to lengthen as spring sprung. But soon, the days would be longer, and there’d be more time in the evenings for Dylan and me to spend quality time together. The thought renewed the bounce in my step. 　　I got out the Instant Pot and decided to make Dylan’s favorite. After searing the meat, I popped it into the cooker. As I went about seasoning the meat and the rich smell filled the kitchen, fondness pulsed through me. I had gotten to know Dylan more over the last year. I knew his favorite dinner, movie, and sports but was that enough? Shame twisted through me. 　　Quashing my worries down, I busied myself with prepping the rest of dinner, peeling spuds and carrots, putting them on the boil, then making a rich stock for the lamb to stew in. I made sure I’d cooked enough for three. If Bert, Dylan’s Beta, was dropping off keys, there was a high likelihood he’d be staying for dinner. I smiled, thinking of the easy-going shifter, who had a habit of visiting around meal times. He was only a couple of years older than me, so we’d been friends as pups. As young kids, we’d had the same lessons together in the pack, then been at high school to sit our exams. Bert was how I’d first gotten to know Dylan; the friend we’d had in common. 　　The best times for Dylan and I still seemed to be when Bert was over, having dinner with us, or watching a movie. Occasionally, when our friend was around, Dylan seemed to forget his coldness that he seemed hell-bent on giving me and would be kinder and perhaps even crack a smile. But it never lasted. 　　As I finished cooking, I glanced at the clock—6:30 pm. I didn’t want to disturb Dylan’s workflow. It wasn’t that late, and he’d said there was a lot to finish. I settled for pouring myself a glass of wine and set the cooker and oven on low to keep things warm. I retreated to the living-room to wait for him. 　　Turning on the lamps, I sat in the corner of the leather couch. I had attempted to make the room cozier over the last year. I’d added some warmth by making the colorful curtains cream with pastel trimming. As I sipped my wine, I remembered the cushion covers I’d finished. Getting them, I had soon scattered the previously bare leather couch with my completed creations. Seeing the finished products in their intended place made me pleased with my afternoon’s work at my dad’s house. I could have moved my sewing machine here, but having it at my dad’s meant that whenever I had a creative project to work on, I got to visit him. He worked for the pack still, but he often worked from home. After I’d moved out, I knew he appreciated my visits, especially since my mom had passed away. 　　Admiring how the delicate textiles complimented the angular lines of the couch, I wondered whether Dylan would notice. He’d said I could change whatever I wanted in this room, the kitchen, and my bedroom. The exceptions were his room and the study. Gradually, the house had been softened. As I took another sip of wine, my thoughts fell again to wondering whether Dylan’s sharp edges, so prickly towards me, might not be similarly softened in time. 　　As if conjured by my thoughts, the sound of footsteps in the hall announced him. My heart quickened. I took another sip of wine, my throat suddenly dry. 　　“Great timing, dinner’s ready,” I said as Dylan joined me. 　　His dark eyebrows dragged together, “Oh… I’m not very hungry. I had a big lunch.” As if he could see my disappointment, he threw out another excuse, “Besides, I’m kinda snowed under with pack stuff.” 　　He disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a bottle of water. He mumbled, “Better get back to it.” 　　His footfalls disappeared, and the emptiness he left behind seemed to ring through me. My appetite vanished too, but not wanting to waste food, I forced myself to fill a plate. But with only the sound of my scraping cutlery to keep me company, loneliness settled on me, feeling as thick and inevitable as the night.