I turn my hand over, lace our fingers together. "You were always special. From the second you walked into my bar, soaking wet and blind. My lion knew. I should have made sure you knew too."
"Your lion knew," he repeats. "But what about you?"
"Me too." I squeeze his hand. "It just took me a minute to catch up. I'm not... I'm not good at this, Toby. Relationships. Feelings. Talking about feelings. I've spent years keeping people at arm's length. It was easier that way. Safer."
"What changed?"
"You." The word comes out simple, honest. "You changed everything. And I know I fucked up by not explaining before we—before that night. I should have told you what claiming meant. What you meant. I just assumed you'd know, and that was stupid of me."
"Not stupid." His voice is soft. "Just... shifter. You forgot I don't have lion instincts telling me what a bite means."
"I won't forget again."
We sit there for a while, hands linked across the table, coffee going cold. It's easy in a way it hasn't been since before everything fell apart.
"I missed you," Toby admits. "Even when I was angry and hurt. I still missed you."
"I sat outside your apartment at 2 AM like a stalker. Didn't go in. Just sat there staring at your window like a lovesick idiot."
He laughs—surprised, genuine. "That's either creepy or romantic. I can't decide."
"Probably both."
"Probably." His smile fades into something more serious. "I don't want to be scared anymore, Knox. I'm tired of waiting for the other shoe to drop. Of assuming the worst."
"What do you want?"
"I want to try. For real this time. Not just the heat and the claiming and the intensity. I want the boring stuff too. Dinners and story hours and falling asleep watching bad TV."
"I want that too."
"And I want..." He hesitates. "I want to see you. The real you. All of you."
"You are seeing me."
"I mean the lion." His eyes hold mine. "I've never actually seen you shift. I've seen your eyes change, felt you growl, but I've never seen... him."
The request catches me off guard. It's intimate in a way I wasn't expecting—more intimate than sex, in some ways. Letting someone see your animal form is vulnerable. It's trusting them with the part of yourself you can't control, can't hide, can't make more palatable.
"Okay," I say. "But not here."
"Obviously not here, or in the library." He's smiling again. "Think Miss Glitterbomb would have a heart attack if a lion showed up in the children's section."
"The kids would probably love it."
"The parents would not."
I finish my coffee, set the mug down. "I know a place. If you want."
We leave the coffee shop and walk back to the library where my bike is parked. The sun is starting to dip toward the horizon, painting everything gold.
Toby takes the helmet when I offer it, but this time he doesn't fumble with the straps. Just puts it on, climbs on behind me, and wraps his arms around my waist like he belongs there.
Because he does.
The ride to the overlook is quiet. Just the rumble of the engine, the wind, Toby pressed warm against my back. His arms tighten when I take corners, relax when we straighten out. By the time we reach the overlook, the sun is setting properly, the sky streaked with orange and pink.
I kill the engine. The silence is sudden.
