Her phone buzzed, and Hazel looked at it hopefully. It wasn’t Ian though. It was the Period-Tracker app giving her a message that she should have started today. Hazel frowned. Usually, the app was dead-on. Maybe she would start later that day.
She sighed and washed her hands, looking at herself in the mirror. She did look a little tired. No doubt being home had something to do with that.
When she opened the door, Hawk was standing outside with his arms crossed.
“Sorry, did you need to go?”
“No. I just wondered where you disappeared to. It seems like Steve is bothering you more than usual.”
“I think I’m just hormonal. Or maybe he is more irritating. Or maybe I just wish Dad still came for holidays.”
Hawk shrugged. “Well, he’s got his new family. I think he gave up on us after Steve knocked Mom up.”
“He could at least call,” she pointed out.
“He could, but that would revoke his position as abandoning father.” Hawk launched himself from the wall. “We can escape to my room after dinner—get away from them for a while. Plus, my room smells more like Gain than turkey.”
“That sounds nice. I was going to try to cut out early, but I’ll stick around if you want to play video games.”
“Always.”
***
It was a bit late when Ian heard the doorbell. He went to the intercom and asked Dave the doorman who it was, then instructed him to send Hazel up. In truth, he barely counted this as a holiday, and so had been in his study for the bulk of the day, making notes over Hazel’s latest draft.
The elevator opened on a sweater enveloped Hazel, whose eyes were a little red and her eye makeup smudged. Ian wrapped his arms around her and kissed her head.
“Darling, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. Holidays are just hard.”
“Alright, then.” Ian rubbed his hands over her shoulders and guided her to the sofa. “Maybe you need a holiday from your holiday, then. We could go somewhere. I do have the jet.”
“No, I don’t want to go anywhere.” Hazel snuggled up against his side. She looked a bit pale, in addition to everything. That sweater seemed to swallow her, but the leggings underneath probably didn’t provide much warmth.
“How about I get you a glass of wine?” he offered.
“No. Um, thanks, though.” Hazel bit her lip. “I could go for some mint tea, if you have any.”
“As you wish.” Ian kissed her cheek lightly and went to the kitchen. There, he put the kettle on and snuck glances back at Hazel. She seemed tired, but that was no surprise. He often thought that her vegan diet, as rushed and unplanned as it was as a student, didn’t offer her enough protein to get through the day, let alone a full class load and three jobs. He returned with two steaming mugs of tea (though his was caffeinated), and a plate of cherry-oat bars with almond butter that his shopper had picked up from the store from the vague list item “high protein vegan snacks.”
“I could turn on the television,” Ian suggested. He reclined beside her and offered an oat bar, but she shook her head. She was clearly nervous about something. She hadn’t looked like this around him in some time. “We could just space out for a little bit? Get your mind off of whatever happened with your family?”
“Do you have issues with your family? I guess they don’t do Thanksgiving in the UK.”
“No, but we do have such wholesome holidays as Guy Fawkes day, whereupon we celebrate setting fire to traitors.”
Hazel raised both brows as she stared up at him. “I had no idea Britain was so intense.”
“We did try to take over the world for a time.” Ian combed his fingers through her hair. “My family has always gotten on okay. Mum is still around. I do miss my father, but again, he did mentor me in his business. Did I ever tell you how the company got its name? Cartwright & Benton?”
Hazel wrapped her fingers around the hot mug and blew on her tea. “No.”
“Benton was my mum’s maiden name. My father considered her a partner.”
“Oh. That’s really sweet. Kind of romantic.”
“Trust that you would find a business arrangement romantic.”
“I just think if you’re going to be with someone, you should respect them.” Hazel heaved a heavy sigh.
Ian licked his lips as he considered that. “Do you think I don’t respect you?”
“I… I don’t know.”
“I wouldn’t let someone co-write a book with me if I didn’t respect their work,” Ian said. Where did these anxieties come from, he wondered. He thought back to their first night, when she’d been nearly moved to tears that he thought highly of her.