I’ve faced challenges without blinking, yet one blind woman with a soft voice and too much trust is turning my spine to jelly.
I knock.
My knuckles barely leave the wood before the door swings open, like she’d been standing right there.
“Hello?”
Her voice is warm, surprised, soft at the edges, and it lands straight in my sternum like a blow. My breath stumbles. My wolf goes still, ears forward, every instinct sharpening toward her like she just called my true name.
Then I see her, and yeah, that’s a problem.
She’s wearing a long-sleeved red dress that almost skims the floor, soft and flowing like she stepped out of someone’s dream. Then I look down at her feet.
Sloth slippers.
Ridiculous, fuzzy, not-at-all-menacing sloth slippers. It should ruin everything, but instead it hits me like a truck. She’s devastating.
“H-Hi.” My voice cracks. Great. “Uh, I’m Jason. From the… program.”
“What program?” she asks carefully.
I lift my fake ID tag even though she can’t see it. Buff made it in case Hattie was around. May the universe save me from Hattie and her manic, unsolicited touching. I know I’m supposed to be a dog, but damn, woman.
“The cooking one,” I clarify. “I specialize in lessons for visually and auditorily impaired clients. French, Italian, Asiancuisine, some baking basics… I wanted to see if you were interested.”
Silence.
Terrifying silence. This was a bad idea. I should’ve stayed Dog-Jason.
“Jason?” she repeats, lips parting.
“Yes?”
Oh God.
“You’re kidding.” She laughs, and the warmth of it makes my wolf press closer to my ribs. “That’s my dog’s name.”
“Oh,” I say, trying—and failing—to be casual. I should’ve picked any other name. “Well. Uh. I guess… ” I shrug and offer a tight smile. Thank fuck she can’t see me. “I can be Jason Two Legs?”
She snorts. “Or Human-Jason?”
“That works.”Kill me.
“Well,” she says brightly, “I’d love lessons. Especially after last night. My kitchen was a crime scene. When can we start?”
“Today, if you want? Maybe something French? Like… beef bourguignon?”
She goes still. “How do you…?”
Shit.
“I mean, it’s just a classic?”
She grins. “That’s literally the dish I tried to make last night. Isn’t that a happy coincidence?”
“Happy you had a disaster?” I ask.
She pokes my arm lightly, a flick of touch that shoots straight down my spine. “Hey, don’t mock the visually impaired.”
