Page 30 of The Rusalka and Mr. Right

Another giggle. They’re real giggles, not my fake “flirting giggles” that are only given for the sake of meals. I’m so full. So happy.

Kev makes me happy.

Fear squirms in my stomach. It’s not good to feel so relaxed. That’s part of why I need to go out tonight.

“I have a meeting with an old friend. We’re on a neighborhood watch committee. I’m only scheduled once per month.” I kiss Kev’s cheek and walk to the bedroom.

“What time will you be back?”

I bite my lip. It’s all night. The monsters (And the humans with magical capabilities) of Pine Ridge know that the three intersecting Ley Lines make this place a prize for magical energy. Dark forces love to visit—but we ensure they don’t stay long.

“Uh... The meeting is down the river a ways, so I’ll probably sleep at my place,” I lie. “I haven’t been home in days.” That much is true.

“I noticed. Got you this.” Kevin follows me into the bedroom and pulls something from his work bag.

He hands me a crinkling clear plastic bag and I rip into it, my surprised eyes taking in a pink and gray workout top made of stretchy mesh material. Under the shirt, my fingers find comfy gray leggings made of buttery soft material.

“I got a free voucher from the fitness shop as part of my work perks. Got that for you last night and forgot to give it to you. You look like a goddess in those little white dresses you love, but you don’t have to dress up for me every night, babe. I want you to be comfortable. You uh... you want to bring some of your other clothes over? I got a drawer that’s empty. Plenty of space in the closet.” Kev’s voice is carefully casual.

I clutch the leggings, rubbing my cheek against them. “They’re like kittens. So soft.”

“You like? I’ll get you another one. And all my old Temple shirts are yours. Have at ‘em.”

“You spoil me.”

“Old shirts are spoiling my girl? I don’t think so.Youspoil me. My fridge has never been so full of farm-fresh goodies.”

I grin, but inside, guilt eats at me. The only thing I get in terms of perks at Onyx Farms is a weekly produce box. I’ve never claimed it before. This early in September, it’s full of tomatoes, sweet corn, butternut squash, zucchini, and a five-pound paper bag full of apples that smell so good you want to bury your facein them and inhale. “I bring nothing,” soft, bitter words escape me.

“You bring me happiness. Laughs. All the history I never bothered to pay attention to in high school. Beauty. I want to mention mind-blowing sex, but I think that would sound shallow.” Kev pulls on his tee and track pants, ready for work.

“I like bringing you that.”

“So, you’re busy tonight and sleeping over at your place. You know... I’ve never been on a houseboat.”

I nip that hinting tone in the bud. “I was planning to pick up a picking shift at Onyx Farms on Saturday morning. You know—before I met a man who wanted to spend time with me.”

Kev pouts. “Aw, you gotta work tomorrow, babe? I’m only off on weekends.”

“I was going to say that you should come with me. Have you been to Onyx Farms yet? It’s lovely. There’s a big farmer’s market in the summer and fall. Right now, it’s a solid wall of apples and pumpkins.” I pause and pull on the scrap of white lace that I use as a bra and the thong that matches. I don’t need them, but I’ve picked up several little bits and pieces during the past two weeks that make me look more human since I seem to be spending more time with one.

“I can come with you to work?”

“And pick your own apples. Lots of people do. They pay to pick a peck or a bushel basket, whatever, then they go to the orchards. I’ll give you the guided tour.” I wink, getting dressed in my new outfit. This will be much less seductive, but much more practical for picking apples.

Hm. I don’t have to seduce every day. I don’t have to constantly look ready to lure a man to my bed, not knowing if it’ll be my last chance to feed for a while.

Kev means security. It’s an odd thought—not that I’ll take him for granted.

The fear comes back. Relying on one food source is scary. But if Kev saw me with other men... He wouldn’t understand. He’d be so hurt.

The thought of his pain is devastating to me.

I like this man. So very much.

Sometimes, I even think I ...

“Great! What time? Where is it? Want me to pick you up, or should I just meet you there?”

---