Page 77 of Blue Moon Mistress

But the work in the living room has already started to tug at me.

“Keep your phone close,” he says as he heads for the door, glancing at the living room. “If we don’t hear from you, someone will come out to make sure you’re eating.”

“Thank you.”

Brows pinched, he looks at the floor again. “What would you normally do when this happened? I mean, if you didn’t have us to look after you?”

“Eventually, my body would tell me I needed to knock it off.”

“I don’t like that.”

“It doesn’t either.”

I watch him get in his truck and leave before I go back to the papers and tomes. Their weathered pages and decades old ink—some of which isn’t completely dry yet—drag me under and I get lost in their words too easily.

When I look up again, Johnny is laying on the couch in front of me. A paperback gripped in his hand, it’s cover bent all the way back, and it’s dark out.

“When did you get here?”

“About an hour ago?” He turns on his side and shoves the book under himself to keep his place. “When Josh said you werefocused,I hadn’t realized he’d meant oblivious.”

“That’s not nice.”

“I’m just glad you have these guys around to keep you safe if someone they didn’t like showed up.”

“I have wards to keep most people out in the first place.” Though I might want to change them around. After all, I’d rather not ignore the guys when they’re here.

“I’m here to make sure you eat dinner.”

“I can smell that.” I glance over my shoulder toward the kitchen. “And I should definitely take a break.”

“Perfect. I was going to throw a pillow at you in fifteen minutes. If you hadn’t come up for air.”

Glancing at the wolves, I wonder if one of them would have caught the pillow if it had come to that.

“I know people who would want to light you on fire for that.”

He looks at the curled book beneath him. “I promise it was already half destroyed when I got it.”

He holds up his hands as if I’ve pulled a gun. “I got it at Yesterday’s.”

The shop was one of the few places in town that would buy almost anything you had to sell as long as it was small. And their book section—a true fire trap at the back—was full of five cent novels that had seen their fair share of damage.

“When you’ve always got the risk that someone’s going to slobber on it, or tear it up with their little claws, the book you keep in your work truck is one you’re not worried about destroying.”

“Fair enough.” I take his offered hand and step over my ever shifting piles. “What is that delicious smell?”

“I’m trying my hand at spinach and feta puffs and a falafel-like thing. There’s also a salad, in case everything goes wrong.”

“How often does everything go wrong?”

“You know what? Pretend I didn’t say that.” He wraps his arms around me pulling me back against his chest and walks with me into the kitchen. “Pretend, I’m perfect.”

“You sure you want me to hold you to that standard?”

“Fair point.” He nods toward the ephemera glass. “That thing’s been going off every few minutes.”

I look at the glassy surface and for once am happy to see the message inscribed there.

---