His expression softened with something like pride. “And that’s one of the many reasons I’m falling for you.” He cupped my cheek in his palm. “But this isn’t a battle that can be won overnight, Clara. Or maybe at all.”
The words ‘falling for you’ echoed in my mind, momentarily distracting me from our argument. I leaned into his touch, torn between the warmth his confession ignited and the anger at the injustice of our situation.
“There has to be a middle ground,” I said finally. “I refuse to hide you away like some shameful secret.”
He considered this. “What if we compromise? We’ll be careful in very public places, especially around strangers. But with people you trust—your friends, for instance—we don’t hide.”
It wasn’t ideal, but it was something. “And you’ll still come to my place? We can still go on dates?”
“Of course,” he said without hesitation. “Just perhaps not to the busiest restaurant in town during the dinner rush.”
I managed a small smile at that. “So no Valentine’s Day dinner at Luigi’s, then?”
“I think we’d cause a riot,” he agreed, returning my smile with a tentative one of his own. “But I make a mean carbonara, if you’d like to celebrate at home instead.”
Home. The word hung between us, full of promise and complication.
“Okay,” I said finally. “We’ll be discreet. But not invisible. I won’t hide you, Rion.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to.” He leaned down and pressed his forehead to mine, careful of his horns. “I just want to keep you safe. Keep both of us safe.”
I closed my eyes, breathing him in. “I hate this. I hate that we have to think about this at all.”
“I know.” His breath was warm against my face. “But it won’t be forever. Things change. People change.”
“Not fast enough,” I murmured.
He chuckled, the sound vibrating through me. “Patience isn’t your strong suit, is it?”
“Not really, no.” I pulled back slightly to look up at him. “Are you really okay with this? With… stepping back?”
A shadow crossed his face. “I’ve spent most of my life stepping back, Clara. It’s what I know.”
The admission hurt to hear. “That’s not an answer.”
He sighed. “No, I’m not okay with it. But I’m not willing to put you at risk, either. So for now, stepping back is the pragmatic choice.”
“I don’t like pragmatic,” I muttered.
That earned me a genuine laugh. “I’ve noticed.” His expression sobered. “But promise me you won’t confront Mrs. Wilson about this further. She’s not the enemy here.”
I wanted to argue, but deep down, I knew he was right. Mrs. Wilson was a product of her generation and position. She wasn’t actively trying to hurt us—she genuinely believed she was protecting both the library and us from potential backlash.
“Fine,” I conceded reluctantly. “But I’m not happy about it.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to be.” He glanced at his watch. “You should eat your lunch before your break is over.”
The practical reminder brought me back to reality—we were still standing in the library stacks, and I had a job to return to. “Will I see you tonight?”
“If you want to,” he said, his eyes searching mine.
“I always want to,” I admitted.
His smile was worth the vulnerability. “Then yes. But I’ll pick you up here after work instead of driving you directly.”
The compromise stung, but I nodded. “Okay.”
He leaned down and kissed me softly, briefly. “Eat your lunch, librarian. I’ll see you at five-thirty.”
