Page 2 of Bite for Sore Eyes

Instead, they ate Chinese food and laughed at predictable dialogue and sat close enough that Lana could smell the faint pine scent that always clung to her father's flannel shirts. For these precious hours, she could almost forget that her brain was slowly losing its ability to keep her alive.

Her father's arm soon draped casually across the back of the couch, and she felt him studying her profile during the quiet moments on-screen.

He was memorizing her, she realized. Storing up these ordinary, perfect moments against whatever was coming.

The thought should have been heartbreaking. Instead, it felt like unconditional love.

The credits finally rolled across the television screen, casting shifting shadows over the empty Chinese food containers scattered across Lana's coffee table. She stretched against the couch cushions, feeling the pleasant heaviness that came from too much lo mein and the first genuine relaxation she'd experienced in weeks. Her father's arm remained draped across the back of the couch, his presence a steady anchor against the uncertainty that had become her constant companion.

"Thank you for coming over tonight, Dad." The words came out soft, weighted with more meaning than simple gratitude for takeout and a movie. "For spending time with me."

Her father turned to study her, his weathered hand moving to squeeze her shoulder. "You know I love every minute of this, kiddo. Wouldn't want to be anywhere else."

The simple honesty in his voice hit her hard.

One more year.

The prognosis echoed in her mind with brutal clarity. How many more evenings like this would they have? How many more opportunities to sit together on her cramped couch, arguing about movie plots and sharing spring rolls, pretending her world wasn't slowly falling apart?

Grief rose in her throat, threatening to spill over into tears she'd promised herself she wouldn't shed. Not tonight. Not when he'd driven across town just to make her smile. Her father must have sensed the shift in her mood because he pushed himself up from the couch with practiced ease, already reaching for his jacket.

"You should really get some rest. I'll check in with you tomorrow."

Lana managed a smile. "Drive safe, Dad."

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, lingering just long enough that she caught the familiar scent of pine and spice that had meant safety her entire life. Then he was gathering the empty containers, depositing them in her kitchen trash, and heading for the door before either of them could acknowledge the weight of everything they weren't saying.

The apartment felt impossibly quiet after he'd finally left. Lana remained on the couch, staring at the blank television screen and fighting the urge to call him back. These past two years had been a masterclass in maintaining hope and positivity, treating her illness like a puzzle to solve rather than a death sentence. But tonight, alone with her thoughts and yesterday's prognosis, the facade felt too heavy to maintain.

She pushed herself up from the couch and surveyed her studio apartment with fresh eyes. The cluttered desk where she spent her days debugging other people's security systems. The single bed tucked into the corner. The kitchen that barely qualified as such. If she truly had only a year left, was this how she wanted to spend it?

Hell no.

The thought struck her with unexpected force. She'd spent the last two years shrinking her world, making it smaller and safer and increasingly isolated. She'd ended her relationship with Bryan, resigned from the NSA, and stopped making plans beyond the next doctor's appointment.

What if instead of continuing to withdraw, she chose the opposite? What if she decided to make this final year the best one of her life?

Lana crossed to her desk and opened her laptop, the familiar glow of the screen illuminating her face. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment before she started typing. Adventure travel. Dating apps. Bucket list experiences. Page after page of possibilities scrolled past, each one representing a choice to live rather than simply survive. The search results blurred together until one particular link caught her attention.

The Paranormal Dating Agency.

She clicked through to a website that looked both professional and slightly fantastical, filled with testimonials about shifters and fated mates and romance that transcended species. The founder, Gerri Wilder, smiled from a professional headshot that somehow managed to convey both warmth and mischief.

Shifters?

Lana had heard whispers about them during her NSA years and had seen several classified reports that hinted at populations living quietly among humans. But she'd always assumed they were elaborate cover stories for more mundane intelligence operations.

But what if they weren't?

Her analytical mind kicked into gear, scanning the website for inconsistencies or obvious fraud markers. Instead, she found detailed testimonials, professional certifications, and a success rate that seemed impossibly high. The whole premise was intriguing enough to capture her curiosity, and right now, curiosity felt like the first genuine emotion she'd experienced in months.

Before she could second-guess herself, Lana reached for her phone and dialed the number listed on the contact page.

"Paranormal Dating Agency, Gerri speaking. How can I help you?" The voice that answered was crisp, confident, and utterly delighted, as if she'd been waiting for this exact call.

"Hi, I'm... well, I'm looking for an adventure. Maybe a little romance." Lana felt heat rise in her cheeks at the admission. "And I'm curious if you could match me with someone who might offer that." She paused for a moment. "I should probably mention upfront that I only have about a year to live, and I want to enjoy it while I can."

"Oh, honey." Gerri's voice shifted, becoming warmer and somehow more focused. "Now that sounds like exactly the kind of challenge I live for. A final adventure of a lifetime? We can absolutely make that happen."