By the time we settle on the couch with The Conjuring queued up, we're surrounded by enough food to feed six people.
"This cheese," Robin says around a mouthful, "is fucking incredible."
"The truffle one?"
"The cave-aged one. Try it with the fig jam."
I do. It is incredible.
We eat in silence for a while, watching the movie, working our way through the spread. The wine is smooth andrich and way better than anything I'd ever buy for myself. The cheese is perfect. The olives are briny and bright.
"Maybe he's not so bad," I say, reaching for another slice of manchego.
Robin shrugs, but he's already cutting more of the truffle cheddar. "Maybe not."
"You're coming around?"
"This is really good cheese." He pairs it with another cracker. "Maybe he's good for something."
I feel my face heat. "Robin."
"What? I'm just saying." He steals an olive from my plate. "A man who remembers your specific cheese preferences after one dinner might be worth considering. Plus, sunflowers. Your favorite flower, your favorite color."
I don't have a response to that, because he's right.
"He hurt you," Robin says, more serious now. "And I haven't forgiven him for that. I meant what I said—if he hurts you again, I will destroy him. I know people."
"I know you do."
"But." He pauses, reaching for his wine. "He also stood there and let me slap him. Didn't flinch, didn't defend himself, just took it. And now this." He gestures at the spread in front of us. "It's thoughtful. Specific. Like he actually paid attention to who you are."
"His lion chose me the second I walked in," I murmur, remembering what Knox said. Like it's supposed to mean something.
"What?"
"Something he told me. That his lion knew immediately. That I was his."
"And you think that's bullshit?"
"I think that's... instinct. Hormones. Pheromones. Whatever shifters have instead of rational thought." I pick ata piece of cheese without eating it. "It's not really knowing someone. It's just... chemistry."
Robin's quiet for a moment. On screen, someone is investigating a creepy noise in a basement, which never ends well.
"He got you sunflowers," Robin says finally.
"So?"
"So that's not pheromones. That's not his lion. That's him listening to you ramble about a cardigan and remembering that you love sunflowers." Robin shifts to face me more fully. "That's choosing to pay attention. That's caring about the small stuff."
I stare at the flowers on our coffee table. They really are beautiful. Bright and open and hopeful in a way I don't feel.
"I'm scared, Robin."
"Of what?"
"That he's right. That I am his mate or whatever. That this is real and permanent and I'm going to spend my whole life wondering when he figures out I'm not enough." My voice cracks a little. "What if he wakes up one day and realizes I really am just boring and average?"
"Toby." Robin sets down his wine and takes my hand. "You organize literacy programs for at-risk youth. You taught yourself calligraphy because you thought it was pretty. You read to kids in different voices and you cry at animated movies and you once spent six hours explaining the history of bookbinding to me while drunk. You're the least boring person I know."
