I was too caught on the first part of that sentence to focus on the second. “Mate? The two of you are mated?”
It wasn’t as common for shifters to take mates as it was other supes. At least, it hadn’t been in the Clarkson Clan. They were too self-centred to consider tying themselves to another for all eternity.
“Aye,” June said fondly, her arm going around Jameson’s waist as she grinned up at him. “Going on five hundred years now, and every single one happy.”
A lump formed in my throat. Imagine being so certain about someone you were willing to bet eternity on them. I could see myself doing it, but having someone take that bet on me?
It wasn’t a risk I could imagine anyone wanting to take. Not even Evan. He might think he knew me, that he wanted me, but that could all change.
Watching me was one thing. Spending time around me was another entirely.
“They are sickeningly happy,” Evan drawled, pulling his hand from mine. I tensed, but relaxed again when I realised he was just moving it to my shoulder. Tucked into his side, all my fears calmed. “And not at all prepared to embarrass me during this dinner.”
There was a threatening note in Evan’s words that his parents either didn’t hear or chose to ignore. They exchanged a conspiratorial look before June waggled her brows at me. “Reid, come take a seat. Now, has Evan told you about the time Hamish convinced him he could change the colour of his wolf’s fur by eating nothing but blueberries?”
Evan’s groan had a laugh bubbling out of me.
Maybe this would be okay after all.
It turned out to be far better than okay.
June told countless stories of Evan’s childhood. There were no photos this time, but they weren’t needed. Not with how she painted with her words. I had no trouble picturing Evan’s face as his pa fished him out of the frozen lake after he’d forgotten his wolf was heavier than his human and taken an unexpected dip. She described his expression down to the tiniest detail.
Evan spent half the meal covering his face, weakly protesting at the start of each new story. But there was no real conviction in it. If anything, I thought Evan shone a little brighter with each morsel of his life that his parents chose to share with me.
Or maybe it was just my perception of him. Because, in each of these memories, there was something new to learn about him. How he’d broken his father’s trowel digging up carrots to sneak to a rabbit he thought looked too lean. How he’d set fire to his ma’s kitchen because he’d wanted to surprise them with dinner on their anniversary.
Even the tale of how he’d ended up in the lake had started altruistically. Hamish had slipped and snapped his leg. He’d screamed in such pain that Evan had shifted on instinct, wanting to get him back as fast as possible.
By the time Jameson had pulled him from the icy waters, Hamish was healed and Evan was very, very cold.
I think he caught me staring at him a few times, shooting me questioning looks whenever he did. I didn’t have an answer for him. Not one I was prepared to say in front of his parents, anyway.
You’re a fucking special male, Evan McCarthy.
The realisation didn’t make me feel lucky to be the one sat at the table with him. No, it made me feel guilty and ashamed.
I’d been punishing Evan for one misstep made over a decade ago. I’d thought him selfish and uncaring. I knew already that was wrong, but hearing his parents lay it out in such stark terms?
My past behaviour weighed heavily on me.
We didn’t only talk about Evan. Both of his parents peppered me with questions. First it was about my job—why floristry? What’s your favourite thing about working with flowers? Do you get any rude or awkward customers? Do ye like working in Chester’s shop?—then my life in general—what do you do in your free time? What’s your favourite TV show? When’s your birthday? What’s your favourite flavour of cake?
I managed to fall down a rabbit hole with that final question. I must’ve talked for a solid five minutes about the origins of chocolate fudge cake before realising what had happened. My stammered apologies had been summarily dismissed, before Jameson encouraged me to continue by asking what else I knew about the history of baking.
By the time dinner was over, my throat was hoarse from talking, but I couldn’t find it in myself to be embarrassed. Evan’s parents had put me at such ease that it had felt…natural. I’d been able to be myself around them.
That was the most shocking part of the entire evening.
June hadn’t let us help during dinner, but had relented after both Evan and I insisted on cleaning up. The two of us were now at the sink, Evan washing and me drying.
“They didn’t go out for our sake, right?” I asked as I ran the towel over a plate.
“Nah.” Evan scrubbed at a stubborn stain on a pan. “It’s a real community here. It’s rare to stay in your ownhouse of an evening. In the summer there are barbecues, bonfires in the autumn, and picnics in the spring. It’s only in the depths of winter that they give up and meet indoors.”
I glanced through the window at the thick snow now carpeting the ground. “Yeah, even for shifters I have to imagine sitting out there would be freezing.”
We fell into a companionable silence as we made our way through the rest of the dishes. Right up until Evan suggested I sit while he put them away, but I glared at him until he caved.
