Zoe opened the door, saw that it was him—
And closed it again, leaving him speechless, looking at white paint.
That was... intense.
And frustrating.
Because after one brief sniff at her, he was ready to get on his knees and beg for forgiveness, and that pissed him off some. He didn’t do all that wrong. But just as he opened his mouth to say...he wasn’t sure what he was going to say, but before he could, the closest window opened.
“Would this help?” she asked.
He looked at the window, at the box in his hands that was supposed to be a peace offering, back at the window. “I’m not quite sure. Help with what, exactly?”
“The smell. Can you smell me from here?”
He smelled her in his dreams, but telling her that wouldn’t help. The whole truth was already unhelpful enough. “Yeah.”
“Like, everything?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Rats,” he heard her mutter. “All right. Wait there.”
When the door opened again, relief was stupidly heavy. He took a sniff—because not doing it when she was this close was an abomination. She smelled divine, like something sent exactly for him to cherish and protect.
She caught him in the act. Was not amused. “You need to stop that,” she said, crossing her arms and leaning on the doorframe.
He thought about apologizing, about telling her he would, but then he realized she deserved better than a promise he couldn’t keep. Because—biology. “I can’t. That is literally who I am.”
She kept staring at him.
He sighed. “Can you stop seeing things?”
She inclined her head to the side.
“You can’t, because you have eyes. I have a nose.” Why was this so difficult? “I can’t help smelling things.”
Still nothing from her.
Someone kill me now.“And sometimes, some of the things are, well, feelings.”
Her arms tightened across her chest. Not angry, or not exactly. “Do you have any idea,” she said carefully, “how mortifying that is?”
He frowned slightly. “Mortifying?”
“Yes, mortifying.” She pushed off the doorframe, then leaned back again like she couldn’t decide whether to invite him in or shut the door in his face for good this time. “It’s already embarrassing enough to have you threaten a man in the middle of a pub. But knowing that you can apparently smell my... my reactions?” She made a vague gesture to her entire body. “To him? Toyou? That’s mortifying.”
He opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Tried to find words that would help her understand, but found nothing. “I’m sorry. It’s normal to me.”
That was obviously not the right thing to say, judging by the line of her mouth and the spike of a very weird type of anger.
“What is?” she shot back. “Scaring dumb men off, or having women drooling over you?”
“Women don’t drool over me.”
