“I don’t know. They’re little notebooks.”
“That doesn’t really narrow it down, Seth.”
“Okay then, these ones were blue. Pale blue. And leather, I think.”
She went to say something scornful, like,well, that could be anything. But suddenly there was a sound like the wind rushingin her ears, and a million memories were clicking into place, and then she snapped a look at the mess on the kitchen counter next to her.
The mess, and the thing that lay between them.
The thing she snatched up, before she turned on him.
“You meanthisblue leather-bound journal? As in, the one that probably led to her telling me I should never make anything again because I was terrible at it and would probably kill someone? And that I madesoupfrom,last night?” she somehow managed to gasp out.
Only he didn’t say no. He didn’t say of course not. He looked immediately to the pot that was still on the stove. Then he practically leapt to his feet and launched himself at it.
“Oh my god. That’s it. That’s my stuff,” he said.
And oh no, oh no, oh fuck, what had she done? What had she made?
Something nightmarish, her brain screamed at her. Then she didn’t even think twice about it. She jammed herself between him and the probable hell soup. “Whoa, what do you think you’re doing? That isnotyour stuff. That is most likely a magic bomb.”
He peered into the pot. “It doesn’t look like a magic bomb. And honestly I don’t see how it could be.”
“Dude, did you not just hear me? I was seriously bad at doing whatever is in that book. So bad in fact that my Gram said I should never cook or bake again at all. Most likely to make sure I never accidentally cobbled some nightmare spell.”
“Maybe she was just worried about food poisoning.”
“And you think poisoning someone with magic food isbetter?”
Yes he did, she suspected, if his reaction was anything to go by.
He was still trying to get at the pot. And she imagined that the only reason he wasn’t managing was that thing she had noticed the first day he’d come to her door. That hint of stress over the idea of being aggressive with her. Like he needed to be extra careful, and not even so much as touch her or even get in her way, no matter how much he needed to.
Though she supposed that made a lot more sense now.
He was a goddamn werewolf. He probably had the strength of ten men. One flick of his hand could most likely break her bones—so of course he wound up fumbling, and only sort of half grabbing for the pot in her hands. And when she moved it before he could get a hold, he didn’t try again. He just stepped aside. Almost politely.
Even though his face was a picture of the purest frustration.
Please, that face said. And that pleading was in his voice, too.
“I’ll just put some on my arm,” he said, as he held said arm up. To have an effect on her, she thought. Which it did, of course. It made her guts twist and her breath catch in her throat, to a far greater extent than it had before.
Because now you’rereallystarting to warm to him, her brain singsonged at her.
And she hated it for doing so. And him, for making her really feel it.
“Oh don’t do that,” she said. “Don’t play on my anxiety about what that looks like.”
But he just gazed at her, half irritated and half that other thing, again.
That soft, soft thing, like she’d done something that felt so good. Rubbed a hand through his hair, maybe. Or told him that everything was going to be okay. And after that, she didn’t just think about how long it had been since she had cared about him. She thought about how long it had been since anyone—her grandmother aside—had cared about him at all.
His parents never really had. In fact, it was the reason he’d spent so much time at her house when they were kids. Because although her parents didn’t much care about her either, they had let her watch and read most of the things she wanted to. And they hadn’t punished her forever if they even suspected she’d done anything devil-like. She remembered him once wearing some strong aftershave, and getting grounded for three months for drinking alcohol because of the smell.
It was undeniable that they would never have wanted to look after him now.
And last she’d heard they were in the ground anyway.
