Chapter 117
Ellie's POV
I walked to the front door, pressing my forehead against the cool glass of the sidelight window. Two and a half hours had passed since Jackson's text. The street was empty except for a few parked cars dusted with snow. No black SUV in sight.
Stop it, I told myself. You're being ridiculous.
But I couldn't help it. My fingers drummed against my thigh, and Thalia stirred restlessly in the back of my mind, aware that our mate was approaching. The pull of the bond was like a gentle current, tugging me toward him even though he was still miles away.
Mom had picked out my outfit this morning—a deep burgundy sweater and dark jeans, with my hair braided loosely over one shoulder. She'd even helped me with makeup, though I'd kept it light. "You want to look like yourself," she'd said, brushing blush across my cheeks. "Not like you're trying to be someone else."
Now, standing at the window, I wondered if I should have worn something fancier. Or more casual. Or—
"Ellie, sweetheart." Mom's voice came from behind me, warm with amusement. "You know it's a three-hour drive, right? Even if he's driving like a bat out of hell."
I turned, feeling my cheeks heat. "I know. I'm just... checking if it's starting to snow harder."
Mom raised an eyebrow, setting down the glass she'd been drying. "Really? Because you're looking at the end of the street, not the sky."
I sighed and moved away from the window, perching on the edge of the couch. My hands clasped together in my lap, fingers interlacing and separating in a nervous rhythm.
"Okay, fine. I'm a little anxious."
"A little?" Mom sat beside me, her hand covering mine to still their restless movement. "Honey, you've walked to that door six times in the last ten minutes."
"It's just..." I trailed off, not sure how to explain the mixture of excitement and terror coursing through me. "This is important. He's important."
Mom's expression softened. She squeezed my hand gently. "I know. And being nervous shows you care. But standing at the window won't make him drive any faster."
I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it. She was right—I needed a distraction. But when I stood up and took two steps toward the kitchen, my feet stopped of their own accord. I glanced back at the window.
"I mean..." My voice came out small. "I don't really have anything else to do."
"Alright." Mom stood, walking back toward the kitchen. "Then at least put on a cardigan. The cold air will seep in every time you open that door to peek outside."
I grabbed a wool cardigan from the coat rack, draping it over my shoulders. But I still found myself drifting back to the window every minute or so, unable to resist the pull.
Dad emerged from the basement workshop, took one look at me hovering by the door, and raised his eyebrows at Mom. She waved him off with a knowing smile.
The minutes crawled by. I checked my phone again. 5:53 PM. Jackson should be close now.
Through the window, I saw a black SUV turn onto our street. My heart leaped—that was him. I recognized the car immediately, the way it moved, everything. My pulse quickened, and I had to physically restrain myself from running outside.
Breathe, I reminded myself. Act normal.
The SUV pulled into our driveway, and through the falling snow, I could see Jackson's silhouette. He was adjusting his collar, reaching into the back seat for the gifts he'd mentioned. Even from here, I could sense his nervousness—it echoed through the bond between us, mixing with my own anticipation.
He looked up, and our eyes met through the glass. The world seemed to pause for just a heartbeat. His face relaxed into a smile, warm and genuine, and I felt my own lips curve in response.
I couldn't wait anymore.
I pushed open the door and ran down the porch steps, not caring about the cold or the snow or anything except closing the distance between us. Jackson barely had time to set the gifts on the hood of his car before I crashed into him.
His arms wrapped around me instantly, solid and warm. I buried my face in his shoulder, breathing in his scent—pine and something uniquely him. The bond sang between us, and Thalia settled contentedly in my mind.
"I missed you," he murmured into my hair, his voice low.
"I missed you too." My words were muffled against his jacket, but I knew he heard them.
We stayed like that for several seconds, just holding each other. Then I heard Dad clear his throat from the porch.
Jackson and I pulled apart quickly, though his hand remained on my waist. His expression shifted from tender to respectful as he turned to face my parents, who had stepped outside.
"Mr. and Mrs. Green." Jackson extended his hand, his voice steady despite the nervousness I could feel thrumming beneath his calm exterior.
Dad's handshake was firm but measured. "Thank you for coming," he said, his voice gruff but not unfriendly. Mom stood beside him, giving a small nod of acknowledgment.
"Thank you for inviting me," Jackson replied, his eyes moving between my parents with genuine gratitude. "I really appreciate it."
"Let me get the gifts," Jackson said, turning back to his car. As he reached for them, I leaned close.
"Nervous?" I whispered.
His laugh was quiet and slightly strained. "More than I was for my anatomy final."
That made me smile. He gathered the packages—beautifully wrapped, I noticed—and presented them to my parents.
"I brought apple cider," he explained, handing it to Dad. "Non-alcoholic. Ellie mentioned you prefer traditional drinks during the holidays." He turned to Mom. "And these are handmade chocolates from a shop downtown—apparently they're your favorite brand?"
Mom's expression warmed slightly as she accepted the chocolates. "You did your research."
"And this," Jackson held up the evergreen wreath, "is for the season. It seemed appropriate."
Dad's stern expression cracked just a little, and I could tell he was struggling to maintain the facade. The slight upward curve at the corner of his mouth betrayed his true feelings—he was just as eager to welcome Jackson as I was, but felt obligated to play the protective father role a bit longer. "Thoughtful. Come in, then. It's freezing out here."
As we moved toward the house, I felt the nervous energy radiating from Jackson. His hand found mine briefly, a quick squeeze before we stepped inside.
The living room was warm and welcoming, the Christmas tree lights casting a soft glow. Mom took everyone's coats, hanging them in the closet, then turned to me with a bright smile.
"Ellie, honey, could you go check on the goose? I'm still worried about that temperature. And bring out the appetizer tray while you're at it."
I froze. This was the classic wolf family parent move—separate the newcomer from their pack member to observe how they handle themselves independently.
"Mom, I think the goose is fine—"
Jackson touched my arm gently. "It's okay," he said quietly, his eyes meeting mine with steady reassurance. I can handle this.
I hesitated at the kitchen doorway, looking back. Dad had already gestured to the couch. "Have a seat, son."
Mom leaned against the fireplace mantle, arms crossed, her gaze evaluative. The living room suddenly felt very quiet except for the crackling fire and the soft Christmas music playing in the background.
I took one more step toward the kitchen, then stopped. Turning around, I said firmly, "Don't interrogate him."
Dad raised his eyebrows. "Interrogate? We just want to chat."
Mom laughed softly. "Sweetheart, you're already defending him before we've said anything. We're not the enemy here."
"I know, but—" I looked at Jackson, who stood calmly beside the couch, waiting. "Just... be nice."
"When are we ever not nice?" Dad's tone was innocent, but his eyes glinted with amusement.