One day at a time. When forever feels crippling, and the to-do list over the course of weeks becomes too much, you just focus on your next step. Any plan I try to make will likely become irrelevant a month from now anyway. I just know too little about her and the situation that she’s in, that rigid plans will do more harm than good when I need to constantly recalculate along the way. So I’ll just take it one day at a time, and if it happens to work out, then great. And if it doesn’t, I’ll still be able to sleep at night knowing I gave it a fair shot.
Turning off the water, I dry off and dress, heading down to start breakfast. Not a lot left in the fridge, but since I got paid this morning, we can hit the store today.
Pulling down a pan, I make a few scrambled eggs and toast, mentally psyching myself up to go wake her. I don’t even manage to turn around before I feel her presence, a sharp stab in my gut before a shiver runs down my spine, like my energy wakes up and rushes to get as close to her as possible.
“Morning.” Her voice is groggy and for all of my bravado in the shower, I clam up, suddenly incredibly nervous. Passing her a plate without a word, she thanks me, giving me a strange look. “Everything okay?”
Mentally shaking myself out of it, I exhale, chastising myself for acting like a bumbling idiot in the face of a pretty girl. Sure, I have plenty of reason to, but with as paranoid as she is, a sudden shift in demeanor would be a huge red flag and chase her off faster than anything.
Trying to stick myself back into the mental state of blissful ignorance, I clear my throat and grab a drink before answering her. “Yeah, sorry, dry throat. I figured after breakfast I’d head out for groceries. Want to come?”
She inhales her food quickly, waiting to answer until she’s down to just her toast. “Sure, not like I’ve got anything else on the agenda. And this way you don’t need to worry about me robbing you blind when your back is turned.” She takes a bite after her flippant comment while I balk.
“That never once crossed my mind, trust me. I just don’t know the sort of food you like and figured it’d be easier for you to help pick stuff out and I can show you around town a bit more.”
She heads over to the sink to wash her plate. “Not offended, Ian. Honestly, with as easily as you trust strangers, I’m amazed you haven’t been murdered yet. Youshouldbe worried about things like that.” Setting it on the towel laid on the counter beside the sink that I let the dishes air dry on, she leans her hip against the edge. “I could have stabbed you in your sleep. Robbed you blind, made off with your car, or any number of things! You need to be more careful.”
Fighting a smile, I take care of my plate and shrug a single shoulder. “Bold of you to assume I’m against getting stabbed. My retirement plan is death, thank you very much. But if it makes you feel better, I’ll turn down any more strays that come scratching at my door.”
She flips me off and I outright grin. “You’re the one that practically dragged me to your house, thank you very much. I don’t beg.”
With an amused roll of my eyes, I leave the kitchen to start tugging on my boots and grab my jacket. “Way to make me sound like a creep. No wonder you dream about stabbing me and stealing my prized trading card collection. Can’t blame you; I have some holographic, special editions that might be worth like, ten whole dollars.”
Her smile lights up her face, making her eyes seem even brighter. “And now you’re just bragging about your valuables to the serial killer. Really, how you’ve managed to stay alive this long is nothing short of a miracle.”
We head out the door, and despite the way the cold steals the air from my lungs, I’m breathing far easier.
Eight
Esmerelda
It’s impossible not to feel like some novelty toy with the way everyone keeps eyeing me. Striding confidently beside Ian in the grocery store, I keep my head held high. The last thing I’m going to do is cower in front of these strangers and give them the satisfaction.
“It’s because they don’t recognize your scent,” Ian murmurs, leaning in close and I shiver at his breath on the nape of my neck.
“Desperation and dirt? Really, I’d have thought that was a common aroma.”
He rolls his eyes, turning a corner and pushing the cart down the aisle. “Notyoursspecifically, ‘ya sad hobo, but the shifter one clinging to your clothes. They clearly have no clue who it belongs to, but that in itself gives you enough protection to not be concerned about anyone giving you too hard of a time. Means you're marked as under someone’s protection, and without knowing who they’re up against, people will think twice before trying anything.”
I stop dead in my tracks, and Ian makes it only a little farther before realizing I’m not following. Beneath the hem of my coat, I rub my fingers over the baggy shirt, a myriad of emotions flitting through me faster than I can discern.
“You alright?” Ian frowns.
Clearing my throat, I quickly catch up. “Yeah, sorry.”
There’s a heavy beat of tense silence before he offers, “Want to talk about it?”
Running my tongue over the back of my teeth, I debate how much is safe to divulge without putting either of us at risk. The more he knows, the more that can be used against me when I move on. And no matter what they say, everyone ultimately has their price that will make them break.
Still, the thought of lying to his face doesn’t sit right with me. He’s gone above and beyond to help me without asking for anything in return, perfectly content not to probe or demand answers like any sane person in his position would. And maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but I’d like to believe that Ian’s suicidal ass would toss out some real doozies to throw someone off my trail, far too dramatic to just roll over without a final ‘fuck you’ to the world.
My words are barely audible, trying to ensure a semblance of privacy, though if he can hear them, I’m sure a few shifters the next aisle over do too, so I don’t go into any real detail. “He pulled me out of the river after I was shot.”
Ian’s jaw is tight as he clenches his teeth, eyes flitting to me and away quickly. “That why you keep wincing and messing with your stomach?”
Biting the inside of my cheek, I nod, not realizing he’d been paying that close of attention. He drops the subject and we carry on shopping, but he has to constantly play a game of ‘this or that’ because like hell am I about to just start asking for shit. That just makes me feel far too ungrateful and uncomfortable. I already went so far as to leave my bag at the house, and it has me feeling naked and vulnerable being so far away.
When we get to the counter, I slip a bit of money from my pocket, passing it to the cashier before Ian can stop me. “You don’t have to,” he starts, but I wave him off and start grabbing bags.
