by Zoe Chant
“It's nice to meet you,” he said, stepping forward and offering a hand.
Nicole jumped slightly at the unexpected intrusion into her space and resisted the urge to snap at it. He hadn't even done anything wrong, even by wolf logic; she was just prickly. She managed to accept his hand before it looked too weird. “Nice to meet you, too.”
Just as his fingers were closing around hers, the wind shifted, and Nicole was hit in the face with his scent.
Oh. Oh. She breathed in slowly, flaring her nostrils to try to gather in as much as she could. He smelled like spices – curry and cinnamon, and overpoweringly of witch hazel, so strongly she wondered for a moment if he had been performing first aid earlier and failed to shower. She breathed in again, and verified that it was his scent. The spices mixed with the astringent plant to produce something that said home to her. She could imagine curling up with their pups while he cooked, something that actually had flavor. She'd grown fond of human seasoning while she was away, too.
She snapped back to earth and registered his hand tight on hers. Watching her from below lowered eyelashes, he raised her hand to his face and sniffed at the pulse point of his wrist, investigating.
Nicole was suddenly screamingly aware of their audience, particularly of her mother waiting to see if she'd jerk away from him and maybe bite him for the presumption. She didn't want to. He smelled like home. Her wolf wanted to shift and rub against his legs and feel his fingers scratching into their ears and neck.
“Apricots,” he said slowly. “You smell like apricots. And wild honey.”
“I know.” She waited a moment before tugging her wrist out of his hand. He whined reflexively, and when he stepped closer she slid to press into his side, feeling his arm around her. It felt right.
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