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He's wearing a black T-shirt and dark pants, wings folded behind him, head bent as he stares down at something on his counter.

I don't know what. I can't see that far.

He looks...

Sad. Alone.

And something squeezes inside my chest.

The weather is cooling off. It's evening. There is absolutely nothing strange about opening my kitchen window.

None whatsoever.

I unlatch it and push it up. Cool October air slips inside.

Damian doesn't react. Not immediately. Then I watch his entire body go still.

His head lifts slightly.

He inhales.

Deeply.

His eyes close. And the bastard actually breathes in again.

I grin.

He smells my dinner.

Of course he does.

Fucking supernatural senses.

“I made extra,” I call.

His eyes snap open. They find me instantly. Even from here, I see the surprise on his face. I swallow, nervous all of a sudden.

“If you care to join me.”

He doesn't move.

For one horrible second, I wonder if I've waited too long. Then his voice carries across the space between our houses.

“You mean that, Sweet?”

Something about the question hurts. Because Damian Leeds—the most arrogant, commanding, infuriating male I've ever met—is asking permission.

I nod, biting my lower lip.

“I mean it.”

His wings spread.

“Oh!”

The lunatic launches himself directly out of his enormous kitchen window. Three seconds later, there's a heavy thump outside my back door.

I laugh despite myself. When I open it, Damian is standing there.