Page 21 of Moth to Her Flame

“I’m sorry.” His voice carries such genuine empathy that my throat tightens. “That’s why everything’s on paper?”

“Harder to hack file cabinets.” Pulling out a thick folder, I tap its misleading label: “Grandma’s Cookie Recipes.” “Good luck figuring out my filing system.”

“Try me.” His lips quirk in a way that makes my stomach flip. When did that start happening?

“Okay…” Finding the right drawer, I gesture dramatically. “‘Kitchen Recipes’ holds all my research on food-related phenomena—levitating lunch meat, toast with pictures of religious icons, and that one diner in Nebraska where the coffeeliterally never gets cold. Because where better to hide mysterious meal reports than between actual recipes?”

His expression is unreadable. Is he bored? Fascinated?

“‘Tax Returns’ actually contains all my research on government coverups. Because what’s scarier than an audit?”

His laugh feels like warm honey in my chest. “And ‘Christmas Card Lists’?”

“Mysterious disappearances. Because who really knows where all those distant relatives went?”

I flinch for a moment, surprised that I mentioned relatives. I still have an open wound when I think about my parents’ deaths in a car crash when I was in college. The fact that I brought it up tells me I trust this male more than I thought.

He moves closer, peering at more labels. Our arms brush, sending shivers through me. His wing curves slightly around me—not quite touching, just… there. Available. Protective.

“‘Knitting Patterns’?”

“Cryptozoological sightings, organized by region.” Heat rises in my cheeks as I admit, “That’s where the Sasquatch files are now.”

His expression softens. “May I?”

The drawer opens to reveal meticulous notes, blurry photographs, and maps. His fingers brush mine as we sift through papers, and his wings glow brighter at each contact.

“These are incredible.” There’s awe in his voice as he examines my research. “The detail, the cross-referencing… you really cared about getting it right.”

“Fat lot of good it did.” But his obvious respect eases an old ache. “After Melanie leaked everything, no one would touch my work. Couldn’t even get freelance gigs writing restaurant reviews.”

“Melanie.” His voice carries thunder. “The colleague?”

“Yeah. We used to…” The words stick in my throat as I shrug. “I thought we were friends.”

His wing brushes my shoulder—comfort without demands. “Tell me?”

“We started as rivals at the paper, but somehow… she became my best friend. Or I thought she did.” The familiar burn of betrayal rises. “When I first found evidence of Sasquatch, I was so excited to share it with someone who’d understand…”

“She used your trust against you.” His anger vibrates through his antennae.

“Posted everything. My research, my personal notes, even…” Swallowing hard, I admit, “Even texts where I talked aboutfeeling alone, wanting to believe in something bigger than myself. Made me sound desperate and pathetic.”

“You’re neither.” His voice is full of passion as his wing curls completely around me, solid and warm. “You’re brilliant. Look at all this—the connections you’ve made, the patterns you’ve found. She couldn’t handle your insight, your courage to chase truth instead of accepting the easy answers.”

The genuine admiration in his voice makes me brave enough to meet his gaze directly. His odd, citrine eyes hold such fierce conviction that something in my chest cracks open.

“You really think that?”

“Iknowit.” His free hand finds mine, fingers intertwining naturally. “You gave up everything to stand by your principles. That’s not pathetic. It’s… extraordinary.”

The warmth of his praise spreads through me like sunlight. When did his touch start feeling so right? When did his alienness become just… him?

“Well,” clearing my throat against sudden emotion, “at least my paranoid filing system means no one else can steal my work.”

“About that…” His antennae twitch with renewed humor. “‘Sock Drawer Inventory’?”

“Supernatural phenomena. Because they’re always disappearing mysteriously.”

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