He closed his eyes. His lips curved. The dimple appeared.
“Mm,” he said. “Wow.”
The little squirm of pleasure spread through her middle. “Thanks.”
“Eggs? And garlic?”
“Good catch.” She laughed.
Aaron opened his eyes. “What?”
“Oh, part of me was convinced you didn’t know what garlic was.”
“Or eggs,” he said.
“Well…” She gave an exaggerated shrug.
“I never would’ve put them in with noodles,” he said. “Sorry, I meanpasta.”
“Aunt Em, will you make tacos too? And chicken pot pie, with the flaky crust you make, and pot roast and mashed potatoes with sour cream and cheese, and chicken stir fry, and lasagna.”
More dinners than days left to cook them. Her approved vacation time ended the day after the full moon. A lump pushed into her throat, and her eyes burned. Somehow in less than two weeks she had latched onto this place, cabin and acreage and garden and all. And her nephew safe and sound.
And Aaron.
“I know you have to leave,” Quinn said, subdued. “I mean when you come back to visit. In a month or two. Whenever you can come.”
“Definitely,” she said. “Lots of visiting and lots of cooking.”
He nudged her shoulder and this time didn’t nearly topple her. Wolf strength under wolf restraint. The tears surged, but she swallowed them.
“Maybe I’ll send some recipes.” She blinked hard until her eyes were dry. “It’ll have to be snail mail. If I text them there’s no guarantee they won’t evaporate into the cyber-void.”
“True enough,” Aaron said. “Though there’s also a computer in the house somewhere.”
He was looking at her. No smoldering behind his eyes, no studying as if to figure out the puzzle of her. He was simply looking as if committing her—or maybe this night, this meal—to memory.
When dinner was finished, he insisted on cleaning up, and she couldn’t very well argue when he quoted her back to herself. His limp was less severe now than it had been earlier, so she didn’t bring it up. She sat with Quinn at the table and played a game of Battleship while dishes and silverware clinked from the kitchen. Aaron joined them minutes before Ember announced the sinking of her cruiser and, all ships sunk, conceded the game.
As usual Quinn turned in earlier than the average thirteen-year-old, his mind and body wholly spent after a day of managing sensory overwhelm. When his bedroom door shut, Aaron and Ember adjourned to the living room.
He sat on the couch, leaving her the chair. Tonight she didn’t want to sit across the room from him, but she did.
“We need to talk,” he said.
She nodded but had no idea where to start. Maybe he would speak more freely about the full moon now that they were alone. She could think of no other topic he’d be so somber about. She’d do her best not to use her questions like battering rams.
“I’m listening,” she said.
“Now that you know how it is, it isn’t fair not to tell you. But it isn’t fair either…to say it when…” He scrubbed his palms down his face. “You asked Lucy about Jeremy, when he knew. You’ve got to be wondering…about us. Me, I mean.”
He wouldn’t be saying this if there were no chance… Well, yes, he would, if he deemed it unfair not to. She sat frozen, unable to anticipate his next words, unsure what she wanted them to be. Her life would remain simple if he explained he didn’t see her the way Jeremy had immediately seen Lucy. But maybe Ember wasn’t built for a simple life.
He lifted his head, met her eyes, and again he seemed to be trying to capture this moment, hold onto it forever, be able to see her again later, just like this. He drew a labored breath.
“You’re not obligated to anything,” he said. “Lucy mentioned that but she wasn’t clear enough. If you’re not… If you don’t want… Then you just tell the guy no, same as you would a human guy, and that’s it for you.”
Oh, Aaron.
