I waited.
She met my gaze steadily. “I want to be open to having real relationships in my life.”
The statement was simple, but the meaning underneath it was anything but.
“And,” she added, “I would like to go out to dinner. With you.”
The sentence took a moment to fully register.
“Dinner.”
“Yes.”
Her expression held a mix of determination and vulnerability that felt very Zoey.
“I’m not promising perfection,” she continued. “I’m actively learning how to do this in a healthier way. But I really want to try.”
My chest tightened again. “That sounds like a good plan.”
“But,” she added carefully, “I think you might need to do some work too.”
That caught my attention. “What kind of work?”
Zoey shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t want to armchair diagnose you because I’m not qualified.”
“Fair.”
“But some of the things you’ve said about how your brain works, some habits I’ve observed, reminded me of a teacher I had once. She had OCD.”
The room went quiet. I sat there for a moment, turning the statement over in my mind. Pete’s voice drifted through my memory.You’ve always had these tendencies.
The card Connor had slid across the bar. Therapy group for shifters.
Zoey watched me carefully. “You don’t have to agree with me. But if we’re going to try to build something healthy together, I want both of us working on our stuff.”
I nodded slowly. “That seems reasonable.”
“Does it?”
“Yes.” I rested my forearms on my knees and stared into my wineglass. “I’ve been thinking about that already.”
Her head tilted slightly.
“I have a card for a therapy group.”
Zoey blinked. “That was faster than I expected.”
“A stranger at the bar gave it to me.”
“That sentence contains several concerning details.”
I shrugged. “He was a shifter.”
“Okay, that makes it a bit better.”
“I was planning to look into it.”
She studied my face again. “You would actually do that?”
