Page 21 of Abdominal Snowman

A Date?

Sage finished her coffee at the exact moment Soren came down the stairs.

She stood from the kitchen bar, her game plan in the forefront of her mind, and raced to the back door that led to the garage path. Soren’s footsteps echoed through the living room, growing closer, and as he rounded the corner, she silently cheered.

A half smile curled one corner of his lips up, and she… well.

Are monsters supposed to be this attractive?

“Can I help you?” Soren asked with a grin.

Sage stood taller and faced him, blocking his exit as she tilted her head up confidently. “You can’t go back to your little man cave until you answer some of my questions.”

Could he just lift her like a doll and go to his man cave anyway? Yes. But Sage was hoping he’d get the message.

“Really?” He crossed his arms and leaned a hip against the kitchen table. “Is that so?”

Her cheeks flamed with color, but she stood her ground and met his ice blue gaze. “Yes.”

“I have a question of my own,” Soren announced.

Sage’s stomach flipped, and she didn’t know why. “Ask,” she bit out, annoyed at herself.

“What’s your name?” he asked, and began a trek to the sink.

Sage followed him with her gaze, but as he turned the water on, she saw a mail caddy on the wall. Her gaze just happened to study it’s contents for a second too long.

Soren cleared his throat. “It’s only fair that I know yours, since you know mine.”

“Sage,” she answered.

The clink of the mug echoed in the silence as he shut the water off. Then he faced her, drying his hands on a dishtowel, and… smiled.

“That’s a kitchen spice, not a name,” he said.

Rolling her eyes, she scoffed. “Haven’t heard that one before.”

Soren’s chuckle was deep and rumbly and yummy, and Sage wanted to smack herself. Stop that.

“You’re right,” he conceded. “It suits you.”

“What does that mean?” Sage asked. No one had ever said that to her before.

Soren simply hummed and folded the towel before laying it back on the counter.

Sage placed her hands on her hips, cocking one to the side.

“Your name is Soren…Kanine?” she asked, reading the name off the mail. Her lips tipped up.

“Kay-nine? Sounds like a name a werewolf would have.” She could hardly keep the laughter from her statement.

Soren placed his cup in the drying rack with a rattle. “It’s pronounced Kay-neen. Not like canine.”

“Whatever you say, Mr. Totally Not a Werewolf,” she mumbled under her breath.

“Where are you from?” he inquired, placing his palms on the counter and turning his head in her direction.

“Why would I answer that? You’ve told me nothing so far other than your totally canine last name,” she argued, irritation heating her blood.