Page 9 of How Not to Date a Demon

She giggled as Bubba trotted over and flopped down over her crossed legs, still kicking to get to her.

“Well, these are a little different.”

If only she knew how different.

“Yeah, yeah, they’re still small and cute, I know. Alright, show me the haul,” she requested again.

Her attention was still on the midnight fluffball in her lap, but he pulled one of the bags closer anyway.

Chew toys, food bowls, a big bed for them to share—

“Yeah! Maybe we can set it by the bed.” She waved her hand toward the bedroom. “Last night, they were sleeping by the door.”

Already?

“Perfect spot for it then,” he agreed, eager to change the subject. “I figure since I’m going to be home, we won’t need kennels. I’ll just keep an eye on them. And they did okay last night without a kennel.”

Maeve chewed her lip as she glanced from Galen to the pups and back again.

“Alright, fine. But if they chew up our curtains, I want new ones.”

“Of course,” he agreed readily. “Speaking of chewing… I’m pretty sure it’s breakfast time for them.”

He picked Lissie up as he stood, and she wiggled in his arms until he put her down in the kitchen.

Maeve’s gaze was heavy on him, and he wondered briefly if she’d forgiven him yet and was ready for that physical apology she’d mentioned las—

“By the way, I noticed you did some stuff around the apartment this morning. I appreciate it. But what happened to that shirt in the hamper?”

Galen’s back was to her as he pulled bowls and their food out of the plastic bags, and he tried to hide his alarm. He’d meant to throw it away.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“It just had two huge gashes in it. On the back,” she continued. Her tone sounded innocent. Maybe she was oblivious.

That was all he could ask for.

“Maybe one of the pups did it while I was carrying them? I don’t remember getting caught on anything,” he lied. He knew exactly where those gashes had come from, but the last person he could tell was Maeve.

At least… not yet.

Not until things were ready.

“Oh, okay. Weird. I threw it out, I hope that’s okay?”

“Of course,” he said over his shoulder as he sat the three bowls out. “Sorry, I guess I just didn’t notice. That’s so weird.” Was he talking about it too much? Should he apologize again? Fuck.

His stomach churned. He hated lying to her. Hated it. But he had no choice—he couldn’t tell her yet. Not only would it endanger her, but… he might lose her.

Galen wasn’t ready for that. Probably wouldn’t ever be.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said absentmindedly. “I know you have plenty of extras,” she teased.

He paused from his task of feeding the pups, grateful for the distraction. “Are you saying my wardrobe is all the same?”

“What? That would be crazy,” she answered dryly. “It’s not like the only color you ever wear is black.”

Galen glanced down at his clothes. This was one of his finer suits, but yes, still black. He lifted one side of his jacket out. "There's color," he argued, motioning to the gold lining of the jacket.