“Wine’s in the rack by the window.”
She found a red, located glasses in the second cabinet she tried. The domestic rhythm felt borrowed.
“We should talk about Monday,” Victor said, sautéing garlic in olive oil. “When we arrive together.”
“The performance continues.” She poured wine, slid a glass across the counter.
“Lilith will be watching. The other partners too. We need to be convincing.”
“Haven’t we been?”
“Three days of avoiding each other after Tuesday’s dinner hardly screams new relationship.” He glanced at her. “You were the one who disappeared.”
“You were giving me space I didn’t ask for.”
“Fair.” He added pasta to boiling water. “So what do we do about it?”
“Practice. Spend actual time together. Figure out how to be around each other without it being awkward.”
“And the physical aspect?”
“We should probably get comfortable with that too. For Monday.”
He drained the pasta, mixed it with garlic and oil, added fresh basil. They ate at the kitchen island with the city lights as backdrop, talking about nothing important: demon law, her parents’ restaurant, his opinions on historical periods.
“The Enlightenment was overrated,” he said. “Everyone was very pleased with themselves.”
“This is good.” She gestured at the pasta with her fork.
“You sound surprised.”
“I didn’t picture demons cooking.”
“We eat. We sleep. We do most things humans do.” He refilled her wine. “We just do them for much longer.”
After dinner, they moved to the living room. Ava took one end of the leather sofa. Victor took the other. A foot of space between them.
“This is ridiculous,” she said. “We look like teenagers at a school dance.”
“What would you suggest?”
She moved closer before she could overthink it, settling against his side. He tensed. Then slowly relaxed, his arm coming around her shoulders.
“See?” she said. “Not so hard.”
His thumb traced patterns on her upper arm. “You’re not afraid of me.”
“Should I be?”
“Most humans would be.”
“My survival instincts have always been questionable.” She tilted her head to look at him. “Ask my mom about the time I tried to pet a rattlesnake.”
“You didn’t.”
“I was five. It was sunbathing on a rock. I thought it was pretty.”
He laughed, a real laugh, surprised out of him. “What happened?”
