was going to have questions. Anyone would. He just hoped she wouldn’t be taking too many mental notes. He settled down on her couch and looked around her living room. She had framed photographs on the wall; he guessed they were hers, as they looked very similar to the ones he’d seen in the cafe. Most of the living room was black and white—white walls, black couch—but there were touches of color, and personality, everywhere, from the red-and-gold Persian rug to the soft pillows on the couch.
The shades were pulled, which was a relief. He hadn’t even thought about it as they stumbled into the apartment. “How long have you been here?” he called.
“In town? Since college, I had my internship here. But this apartment, about six months. I was on the waitlist when they opened up—it’s a converted woolen mill, if you can believe it.”
“That makes sense.” It explained the high ceilings in such an old building.
“Yeah, I don’t really feel like I’ve moved in yet. I’ve got some of my stuff here, but—” She emerged, wearing a t-shirt and jeans and carrying a fluffy blue bathrobe. “I don’t know. It doesn’t really feel like home yet.”
“You got dressed,” he said. He felt disappointed.
“Sorry,” she said, handing him the bathrobe. “I thought I should get us something to eat. Cooking naked’s kind of dangerous.”
“What time is it?” He wasn’t hungry. “You don’t have to cook for me.”
“It’s almost seven, and I don’t think I’ve got anything I can whip up quick,” she said.
He got up and wrapped the bathrobe around himself. It didn’t fit quite right, but it kept him covered, and it was nice and soft. “Well, don’t do it on my account. I’d be happy with frozen pizza.”
“I don’t think I even have that,” she said. She opened the freezer door and stood there, her hand on her hip. He wanted to walk up behind her and pull her clothes off all over again. “I’m going to have to do pasta with...canned sauce? I think I have some canned sauce? I normally do grocery shopping tonight, but I didn’t exactly have the chance.”
Thunder boomed again outside the window; the storm must have been circling back in.
“Does anywhere here deliver?”
“There’s a pizza place,” she said. “But they charge for delivery.”
“I can handle that,” he said. “It’s not as nice as dinner out, but if you’re hungry, I don’t mind staying in with you.” He patted the couch cushion. “And I’d rather spend time with you than watch you cook.”
She looked back and forth between him and the freezer.
“I’ll still take you to dinner—”
“I don’t care about that,” she said. “I don’t want you to think—”
“I think you’re hungry and I think I want to talk to you. Come on, let’s just get some pizza.”
“All right,” she said, opening up a kitchen drawer and pulling out a menu. “What do you like for toppings?”
“I’m not that fussy,” he said. “Some kind of meat, if you don’t mind.”
“Pepperoni?”
“That sounds great.”
“Wait—are you like a cat? Do you have to eat meat?”
He laughed. “I don’t know. I’ve never tried not eating meat, and I don’t really know many other shifters. Mom always ate meat.”
“Just pepperoni, or do you want something else?”
“Surprise me,” he said.
“You don’t have any allergies? Or anything you don’t like?”
“I’d tell you,” he said. “Do you have—you must have more towels. Could I dry my hair off?”
“Of course,” she said.
He could hear her ordering as he went back into the bathroom. He looked ridiculous in the fluffy blue towel, and his hair was flopping in his face. He toweled it off and did as much work as he could with his fingers to get it in order. Bad enough he looked like a blueberry marshmallow, at least his hair could be in order.
“Twenty minutes,” she said, when he emerged. She was sitting on her couch, just where he’d patted for her
The shades were pulled, which was a relief. He hadn’t even thought about it as they stumbled into the apartment. “How long have you been here?” he called.
“In town? Since college, I had my internship here. But this apartment, about six months. I was on the waitlist when they opened up—it’s a converted woolen mill, if you can believe it.”
“That makes sense.” It explained the high ceilings in such an old building.
“Yeah, I don’t really feel like I’ve moved in yet. I’ve got some of my stuff here, but—” She emerged, wearing a t-shirt and jeans and carrying a fluffy blue bathrobe. “I don’t know. It doesn’t really feel like home yet.”
“You got dressed,” he said. He felt disappointed.
“Sorry,” she said, handing him the bathrobe. “I thought I should get us something to eat. Cooking naked’s kind of dangerous.”
“What time is it?” He wasn’t hungry. “You don’t have to cook for me.”
“It’s almost seven, and I don’t think I’ve got anything I can whip up quick,” she said.
He got up and wrapped the bathrobe around himself. It didn’t fit quite right, but it kept him covered, and it was nice and soft. “Well, don’t do it on my account. I’d be happy with frozen pizza.”
“I don’t think I even have that,” she said. She opened the freezer door and stood there, her hand on her hip. He wanted to walk up behind her and pull her clothes off all over again. “I’m going to have to do pasta with...canned sauce? I think I have some canned sauce? I normally do grocery shopping tonight, but I didn’t exactly have the chance.”
Thunder boomed again outside the window; the storm must have been circling back in.
“Does anywhere here deliver?”
“There’s a pizza place,” she said. “But they charge for delivery.”
“I can handle that,” he said. “It’s not as nice as dinner out, but if you’re hungry, I don’t mind staying in with you.” He patted the couch cushion. “And I’d rather spend time with you than watch you cook.”
She looked back and forth between him and the freezer.
“I’ll still take you to dinner—”
“I don’t care about that,” she said. “I don’t want you to think—”
“I think you’re hungry and I think I want to talk to you. Come on, let’s just get some pizza.”
“All right,” she said, opening up a kitchen drawer and pulling out a menu. “What do you like for toppings?”
“I’m not that fussy,” he said. “Some kind of meat, if you don’t mind.”
“Pepperoni?”
“That sounds great.”
“Wait—are you like a cat? Do you have to eat meat?”
He laughed. “I don’t know. I’ve never tried not eating meat, and I don’t really know many other shifters. Mom always ate meat.”
“Just pepperoni, or do you want something else?”
“Surprise me,” he said.
“You don’t have any allergies? Or anything you don’t like?”
“I’d tell you,” he said. “Do you have—you must have more towels. Could I dry my hair off?”
“Of course,” she said.
He could hear her ordering as he went back into the bathroom. He looked ridiculous in the fluffy blue towel, and his hair was flopping in his face. He toweled it off and did as much work as he could with his fingers to get it in order. Bad enough he looked like a blueberry marshmallow, at least his hair could be in order.
“Twenty minutes,” she said, when he emerged. She was sitting on her couch, just where he’d patted for her
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