Page 14 of Shift Happens
He opened his eyes, giving me a grateful look. “You’re not having sensory overload.”
“I’ve had more practice,” I pointed out. “Plus, my nose isn’t detecting every person’s body chemistry in a half-mile radius.”
That earned a small laugh. “True. Though some of those scents are quite interesting. That guy dressed as Thor? He’s eaten nothing but cheese puffs and energy drinks for at least two days.”
“That’s both impressive and disturbing.”
We found a relatively quiet corner with bench seating, where Milo could decompress. His color gradually returned to normal as the sensory assault diminished.
“Better?” I asked after a few minutes.
He nodded. “Much. Thank you for not making fun of me.”
“Why would I make fun of you?”
“For not being better at this.” He gestured vaguely. “Human stuff. My pack mates say I’m too sensitive for a wolf.”
Something protective flared in my chest. “There’s nothing wrong with being sensitive. And you’re doing great for someone who’s basically learning a whole new culture.”
His smile was small but genuine. “Thanks. Most humans wouldn’t be so understanding about… everything.”
“I’m not most humans,” I said simply.
Our eyes met, and something shifted in the air between us. Milo’s scent changed—that now-familiar spicy-sweet note that I’d come to recognize as interest, possibly attraction. His gaze dropped briefly to my lips before he looked away.
“We should probably get dinner soon,” I said, breaking the moment before I did something stupid like kiss him in the middle of the convention center. “The restaurant options will get crowded.”
“Food would be good,” he agreed, standing. “I’m always hungry after stress.”
Chapter 8
We found a casual restaurant nearby that was busy but not overwhelming. Milo ordered a steak so rare it was practically still mooing, while I opted for pasta.
“Having fun despite the sensory overload?” I asked as we waited for our food.
“So much fun,” he enthused. “I can’t believe I’m actually here, seeing all these things I’ve only read about. It’s like…” He searched for words. “Like when I first shifted to human form and suddenly had thumbs. A whole new world of possibilities.”
I laughed. “I’ve never heard convention attendance compared to opposable thumbs before, but I’ll take it as a compliment to my planning.”
“It is! You’re a very good human guide.” His expression grew more serious. “I’m learning a lot from you. Not just about comics and stores, but about… being a person.”
“You were already a person,” I pointed out. “Just a furrier version sometimes.”
He smiled. “You know what I mean. Most humans wouldn’t be so patient with me. Or accepting.”
“Most humans don’t know what they’re missing,” I said without thinking.
Milo’s eyes widened slightly, and that scent intensified. Before he could respond, our food arrived, breaking the moment.
Dinner conversation drifted to safer topics—favorite panels, upcoming releases, the most impressive cosplays we’d seen. By the time we finished eating, Milo seemed fully recovered from his earlier overwhelm.
“Ready to head back to the hotel?” I asked as we settled the bill. “There’s an evening screening of the new animated Batman movie if you’re interested, but it’s optional.”
“Could we…” He hesitated. “Could we maybe just go back to the hotel? I’d like to process everything from today. Maybe look through the comics we bought.”
“Absolutely,” I agreed, relieved at the prospect of a quieter evening. “Perfect plan.”
Back in our hotel room, we spread our convention purchases across one of the beds, comparing notes and examining our finds. Milo had developed surprisingly good taste in comics, gravitating toward complex storytelling and artistic innovation rather than just flashy covers.
