"That makes sense." Ash nods slowly. "Finding people who get you."
"Exactly. Your turn. What should I know about you?"
"Former Green Beret, five years of classified ops I can't talk about without committing federal crimes. I don't do relationships—or didn't, before you. I hate sweet things, I'm obsessive about my bikes, and I haven't cried at a movie since Bambi when I was eight."
"Robin mentioned Bambi."
"Robin has a death wish." But he's almost smiling. "What else... I have nightmares sometimes. Bad ones. If I wake up swinging, it's not about you."
"Okay." I file that away, keep my voice neutral. "Anything else?"
"I don't know how to do this." He gestures between us. "Dating. Being someone's boyfriend. I've never wanted to try before."
"What changed?"
He's quiet for a moment, thumb tracing circles on my palm. The touch is gentle, almost absent, like he's thinking through his words carefully.
"You. The way you looked at me. The way you wanted to feed me." He meets my eyes. "No one's ever taken care of me before. Not like that. Not because they wanted to, not because they were getting something out of it."
"That's what I do. Take care of people."
"I know. But you wanted to take care of me specifically. Before you had any reason to."
The spring rolls arrive, giving us both an excuse to look away from the intensity of the moment. We eat in easy silence for a few bites, the crispy shells and fresh vegetables a perfect combination.
"Can I ask you something?" I say.
"Anything."
"Robin said you had someone. Overseas. Someone you lost."
Ash's hand stills halfway to his mouth. He sets the spring roll down carefully. "Robin talks too much."
"You don't have to tell me."
"No, it's—" He exhales slowly. "His name was Brennan. Wolf shifter, part of my unit. We weren't supposed to be anything, but... combat does things. Proximity does things. We were together for almost two years."
"What happened?"
"IED. Took out half our convoy. He was there, and then he wasn't."
"Ash, I'm so sorry."
"It was two years ago." He picks up the spring roll again, takes a bite like it's a tactical maneuver. Something to do with his hands. "After that, I decided I was done letting anyone matter. Easier to keep people at arm's length. Safer."
"But you're not keeping me at arm's length."
"No." He looks at me, and there's something raw in his expression. Unguarded. "I tried. You made it impossible."
"Good." I lean across the table and kiss him, quick and soft. "I'm glad I'm impossible."
The food arrives—huge steaming plates that smell amazing—and we dig in. I watch Ash's face when he tries thecurry, the way his eyebrows rise slightly, the way he takes another bite immediately.
"This is really good," he admits.
He takes another bite, chewing thoughtfully. "Speaking of Robin talking too much, he told me you made four batches of vindaloo. To get it right for me."
I flush, heat rising up my neck. "He shouldn't have told you that."
