The sun is bright, the snow is melting, the sky is clear. Perfect weather to get out. The past few days have been so bad Icouldn’t even walk to the road, let alone meet anyone else on the community lands.
I turn around and catch Kojo’s eyes right where I knew they’d be — on the curve of my ass through the shirt. He clears his throat and looks away, caught, and I shake my head at him.
“Weather looks good enough to travel.”
He nods but says nothing. I start pulling clothes from the drawer, realizing we definitely need a shopping trip. I head to the bathroom, brush my teeth, wash my face, then step into the shower and scrub down properly. When I come out wrapped in a towel, Kojo has already left the bedroom. Retreated, more like. He does this every time, giving me space to dress.
Is there such a thing as being too much of a gentleman? Part of me wants to storm after him in this towel and demand he handle his business. I groan at myself instead, lotion up, pull on underwear, a shirt, pants, and thick socks, then head downstairs.
Zaki is on the sofa, smirking. She heard everything. Of course she did. She can probably trace the scent of every single thing that just happened in that bedroom.
“Three days,” she says, “and no completion of the mate bond.”
“Good morning, Zaki.” I force a smile and keep walking toward the kitchen.
I huff when I see the table. It’s already set with fresh vegetables, fruit, toast, juice, and eggs. I stop at the eggs. I look at Zaki, who has followed me to the table.
“I can tolerate the eggs,” she says, pulling out a chair for me. “Everything else, no.”
I sit down and stare at the plate. Zaki made eggs. Bouda don’t eat cooked food. She made effort to cook for me.
I pick up the fork. “Thank you.” And I mean it.
“Kojo is cultural,” Zaki says, standing beside the table with her arms crossed. “It is embedded in his blood.”
“What are you getting at?” I chew on a piece of toast, waiting.
“You are trying to change him.”
“Well, you’re trying to change me.” Zaki goes quiet at that. There’s a silence between us for a moment, and then she looks at the eggs on my plate.
“Look at the eggs,” she says. “I am meeting you halfway.”
She has a point. She disappears from the table and comes back with my boots, setting them beside my chair.
“You wish to travel today,” she says. It’s not a question.
“Yes.”
“And when we do finally complete the mate bond,” I say, narrowing my eyes at her, “are you going to be hovering outside the door making sure the act is done?”
She gives me a smug smile. “I will leave you alone when I know my bloodline is secure. I do not have a mate, and the Bouda are a dying breed.”
“When will you know when you’ve found yours?”
Her face softens and her fingers trace the edge of the table, her ridge relaxing along her back for just a second. “His scent will change me. Force me to relax.” She turns away and grabs the coat from the rack. “Until that time comes, I am a servant of my people.” She holds the coat open for me. “And you are my people.”
I finish the fruit, drink the rest of my juice, then push back from the table and slide into my boots. Zaki helps me into the coat, buttoning it up before I can protest, and I let her because picking battles with Zaki is a full-time job.
“While we travel,” Zaki says, “I would like to find this Jackie seamstress.”
“Yeah, you’ve mentioned her a few times. Why do you need a seamstress?”
She scoffs, gesturing at her clothing. “I cannot fight in this. I look like I am ready for courtship, not ready for battle.”
Kojo comes down the stairs and I forget what I was about to say. He’s cleaned up, freshly washed, and wearing a long-sleeved shirt this time. The ridge has torn straight through the back of it, the blades poking through the ruined fabric.
Maybe I should take Kojo to see this seamstress too. He can’t keep destroying his clothes.
