"But—"
"No buts. Knox would be lucky to have you. The question isn't whether you're enough. The question is whether he deserves you."
I want to argue. Want to point out all the ways I'm ordinary, forgettable, not worth a lion shifter's obsession. ButRobin's looking at me with that fierce protective love he's had since we met, and I can't make the words come out.
"Thursday is story hour," I say instead.
"And how do you feel about that?"
I think about Knox at the last story hour, before everything fell apart. The way he'd sat carefully cutting out paper mice. The way the kids had climbed on him like playground equipment and he'd just let them, this massive dangerous predator turned into a jungle gym for five-year-olds.
The way he'd looked at me across the room like I was the only person in the world.
"I don't know yet," I admit.
Robin nods, stealing the last piece of truffle cheddar. "That's fair. You don't have to know yet."
"But Robin?"
"Yeah?"
"A man who drops off three hundred dollars of groceries and doesn't even try to come in..." I trail off, not sure how to finish.
"That's a man who's trying to prove something," Robin finishes for me.
"Prove what?"
"That he can give you what you need without taking anything back. That it's not all about what he wants." Robin squeezes my hand. "That's not nothing, Toby. Maybe he is trying. Maybe he's not such an asshole."
The sunflowers glow in the lamplight, bright and warm against the darkness of the horror movie we've stopped watching.
After Robin goes to bed, I stand in front of the bathroom mirror for a long time.
The marks are almost gone. The bruises on my neck have faded to nothing. The scratches are completely healed. My skin is blank again, unmarked, like none of it ever happened.
Except for the bite.
I pull my shirt aside to look at it. It's still there—deep and dark against my shoulder, not fading like the others. The one Knox said would scar.
I press my fingers against it, gently this time. Not to make it hurt, just to feel it.
Expensive groceries. Sunflowers. My favorite cheese, my favorite crackers, Robin's favorite wine. All of it dropped off without a single request to see me, talk to me, come inside.
That's not pheromones, Robin said. That's listening. That's caring about the small stuff.
Maybe he's right.
Maybe it's not nothing.
I go to bed still thinking about sunflowers, and for the first time in a week, I don't cry myself to sleep.
Chapter 18
Knox
Thursday. Story hour.
Toby's already in the children's section when we arrive, setting up chairs and arranging books. He's wearing a cardigan today—soft blue with little clouds on it.
