“These are really good for your first try.” He held up one of Dakota’s wrapped pieces, examining it like it was precious. “Most people can’t get the twist right at all.”
“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.” But Dakota couldn’t help smiling, couldn’t help feeling pleased with himself.
“I’m saying it because it’s true.” Kivani set the piece down and pulled Dakota in for a quick kiss. “You’re good at this. Natural talent.”
The kiss was sweet, brief, but it made Dakota’s toes curl anyway. He was getting used to this, he realized. Used to Kivani’s casual affection, the way he touched and kissed and purred like it was the most natural thing in the world. The shifter revelation had felt world-shattering last night, but in the light of day, with Kivani’s arms around him and taffy cooling on the counter, it just felt like another piece of who Kivani was.
Another piece Dakota was learning to love.
The thought made him pause, his hands stilling on the taffy he was wrapping. Love. Was that what this was becoming? He’d known Kivani for weeks, not months. Had only just learned what he really was. Love seemed too big, too fast, too dangerous.
But his heart didn’t seem to care about logic or timing. It just kept pulling him toward Kivani like gravity, inevitable and absolute.
“You okay?” Kivani’s hand found Dakota’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “You got quiet.”
“Just thinking.” Dakota forced his hands to keep moving, to finish wrapping the piece he was holding. “About everything that’s happened. About us.”
“Good thoughts or bad thoughts?” Kivani’s voice held carefully concealed worry.
“Good thoughts.” Dakota turned to face him, setting the wrapped taffy aside. “Really good thoughts, actually. I’m just processing.”
“Take all the time you need.” Kivani’s hands settled on Dakota’s hips, thumbs rubbing small circles. “No pressure, no expectations. We move at whatever pace feels right for you.”
The understanding, the patience, made Dakota’s throat tight. “Thank you.”
They finished wrapping the taffy together, working in comfortable silence broken only by occasional kisses and the sound of wax paper crinkling. When the last piece was wrapped and stored away, Dakota’s stomach growled loudly enough to make them both laugh.
“Lunch?” Kivani suggested, already reaching for his phone. “We could order delivery from the diner this time.”
Dakota thought about how he’d spent the entire meal wanting Kivani’s food when they’d eaten there before. “Can I get the burger this time? And fries?”
“You can get whatever you want.” The guy’s grin made Dakota’s heart flutter, made him think of forever with his tiger.
Chapter Nine
Dakota stared at his laptop screen, the cursor blinking mockingly in the middle of a half-finished line of code. He’d been sitting here for the better part of an hour, and the progress bar of his productivity was hovering somewhere around fifteen percent. Maybe less. Probably less.
The problem was simple—Kivani existed.
More specifically, Kivani existed in his apartment across the hall, doing whatever it was that shifters did on any given night, and Dakota’s brain refused to focus on anything else. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, poised to type, but all he could think about was the way Kivani’s hands had felt on his waist earlier. The sound of that purr rumbling through his body. The taste of honey-lemon taffy and something uniquely Kivani when they’d kissed.
Dakota groaned and scrubbed his hands over his face. This was ridiculous. He was twenty-four years old, not some teenager with his first crush. He had work to do. A client deadline looming. Bills to pay that required him to actually finish this project instead of daydreaming about his stupidly attractive landlord who could turn into a tiger.
His landlord who was also apparently his cosmic soulmate, according to the whole mate-bond situation.
That thought sent a flutter through Dakota’s stomach that he tried very hard to ignore. He forced his fingers to the keyboard and managed to type out three lines of code before his mind wandered again. Back to Kivani’s smile. The way he’d been so patient about explaining the shifter thing, never pushing, never demanding Dakota accept something he wasn't ready for.
The apartment was getting warm. Dakota could feel sweat starting to gather at his hairline, making the bleached strands stick to his forehead in a way that was deeply annoying. He stood up from his bed where he’d been working propped against pillows and crossed to the window. The old frame protested as he pushed it up, the wood swollen from humidity. He managed to get it open about six inches before it stuck, but the cool night air that filtered in was immediately better.
He returned to his bed and his laptop, pulling his hair up into a messy knot. The breeze from the window felt good against his heated skin, carrying the smell of pine trees from the mountains. He could hear the faint sounds of the town settling in for the night. A car passing. Someone's television. The building itself creaking as it always did.
His fingers found the keyboard again. He read back what he’d written, made a few corrections, and started typing. The code began to flow, his brain finally engaging with the problem he was trying to solve, the functions and variables and loops that made sense in ways his personal life currently didn’t.
The sound came from somewhere behind him. Small. Almost nothing. Like fabric brushing against wood or feet moving across the floor.
Dakota’s hands stilled on the keyboard. He tilted his head, listening. The building was old. It made noises constantly, especially at night when everything cooled down. Pipes knocking. Floorboards settling. Nothing to worry about.
He went back to typing, but the rhythm was broken. His ears strained for another sound, some confirmation that he’d actually heard something or proof that his imagination was working overtime.
