“Jesus!” he yelled, his coffee flying straight out of his hand and into the gravel. Milo’s paws were on Shane’s shoulders, his tongue darting out to get a taste of his face.
“Milo!” I shouted, grabbing for his collar. “Get down, boy…sorry…”
Noelle appeared behind me, a bag of treats in her hand. “Milo! You want a treat?” she shouted.
Milo froze mid-lick, head snapping toward her voice like he’d just remembered whoreallyran the house.
Even after just a couple weeks…it certainly wasn’t me.
Shane watched as Noelle, half-dressed and fully at home, lured Milo away, Milo’s tail going a mile a minute. Now thatthe door was open, Shane took the opportunity to step inside, eyes trained on Noelle.
“Is this the cryptid?” Shane asked.
I shrugged. “You talkin’ about the girl or the dog?”
That got a laugh out of him, Shane looking over at me. “Oh, Iknowshe’s a cryptid.”
I probably should’ve said something—offered the man a towel or a damn apology orsomething—but I was still stuck on the way Noelle looked in my t-shirt—legs bare, cheeks flushed, the hem barely grazing her thighs. Her hair was a mess, her voice was scratchy, and I wanted to drag her back to bed and make her come again.
Instead, I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over my chest. “So,” I said. “You’re Shane.”
He gave me a look like he’d prefer I combust on the spot.
“Mmhm,” he snapped. “And you are the reason I’ve had to field emails from three festival organizers, two publicists, and a woman from Austin public radio who thinks Noelle got kidnapped by a cult.”
Noelle winced. “That…was an overreaction.”
“You texted ‘oops,’ Kinney.Oops. I thought this story was about to go from paranormal to true crime.”
Noelle muttered something that sounded likekill me nowand padded into the kitchen. I watched her go, still not over how easily she fit in here. Like she belonged.
Like I wouldn’t survive it if she decided otherwise.
Shane followed her, still fuming, and I let him. Hell, if I were him, I’d be pissed too—but then I caught the look on his face when he saw the sink, half-full with two coffee mugs and a fork I hadn’t gotten around to washing. Her phone on the counter, face-down. Her shoes by the door. Her bag kicked under the table and mostly unpacked like she’d never planned to go.
The home she’d so clearly made here in such a short amount of time.
Noelle handed him a fresh cup of coffee as a peace offering. “Still like it with oat milk?”
“The redneck has oat milk?” he asked, shooting a glare back at me.
I shrugged. “I get her whatever she wants.”
Shane rolled his eyes, but took the coffee. Something passed between them then—old and familiar and loyal—and…hell, it fuckin’ scared me. Because this wasn’t some hookup I could pretend didn’t mean anything.
She had people. People who worried when she disappeared. People who might try to take her back.
People who hadn’t watched her fall asleep with one hand curled in my shirt like she was afraid I’d vanish.
Shane took a sip of the coffee, then hummed in delight. “Okay…the coffee is great, but I can wait to yell at you until you put on some clothes.”
Noelle snorted, moving toward the bedroom. I went to follow, but Shane raised a hand, one finger up like I’d tried speaking.
“You can stay,” he said. “You don’t need to put clothes on. In fact, I think it might be a crime for you to put clothes on.”
Noelle paused at the door and laughed. “Don’t objectify my boyfriend,” she chided, though there was no bite in it.
I blinked.
