Page 46 of Loan Wolf
Then Linda wanted to introduce her to someone else, and talk about her plans for the theatre. They smiled for dozens of photos and selfies, and Clara didn’t correct Linda’s heavy hints that there would be more Green Valley dance performances in the future.
Gabe watched her from a corner of the room with a glass of untouched white wine in his hands. Clara drank several herself, and was starting to feel tipsy when he finally stepped forward and saved her from a long-winded local politician. “Ready to head home, Clara?” he said, staring at the man with challenge in his eyes.
“More than ready,” Clara agreed, cuddling into his arms. She was starting to feel the rush of adrenaline fade away, and her knees wanted to fold.
She wanted to go home, home with Gabe, home in Green Valley.
She changed into flats at last and he steered her outside into the warm, humid darkness outside of the air conditioning. There were fireflies flashing in the yards as he walked her the quiet blocks to his house, and frogs sang. The wine wore off with the walk.
“Did you know that your dance manager is a shifter?” Gabe asked, as they were turning off the sidewalk to his house.
Clara stopped in surprise. “She is? Did she tell you?”
Gabe shook his head. “No, I just…knew somehow. There are actually a lot of shifters in Green Valley. More than I’d guessed.”
“You got my wish from Mueller’s Pond?” Clara said jealously, but Gabe took her too seriously.
“I didn’t mean to,” he said earnestly. “It wasn’t something I was asking for!”
Clara took pity on him. “I got my wish, too,” she said, smiling up at him. “You’re my mate and I don’t have to be a shifter to know it.”
Gabe looked relieved, and he unlocked the house and turned on the lights.
“Oh!” Clara looked around in wonder.
“It was time,” Gabe said, closing the door behind them.
The walls were almost bare. Gone were the moralistic paintings and the collectibles, packed away in stacks of moving boxes by the door. Some of them were marked DONATE and some were labeled SELL. One box said SENTIMENTAL SHIT on the side. There was still a vase of flowers at the table, but the row of angels was gone. He’d left the checked tablecloth and a Van Gogh painting of sunflowers.
“I figured you want to have a say in what I put up instead,” Gabe said. “We can hit the second hand store, or we can drive to Madison and shop at one of those high-falutin’ art galleries if you’d rather. That will be on your credit card, though. I’m just a poor hick biker with no cash.”
“You are not just a poor hick biker,” Clara scolded him. “Are we going to keep sleeping in the basement or do we get to move upstairs where there are windows?”
“If you want,” Gabe said. “It’s actually warmer in the winter and cooler in the summer down there, but we could also use the bedroom up here, or turn the sewing room into a bedroom. The downstairs might be big enough for a dance studio, if we knocked down that center wall and put in a decent floor. It’s up to you.”
“It’s up to us,” Clara corrected him. “We decide. Together.”
“I’ve got a lot of baggage,” Gabe warned her seriously. “And I’m not going to be the kind of guy you can take to parties and show off as your trophy dude. I don’t know the names of hors d'oeuvres or how to kiss asses or speak New York.”
“They speak English in New York,” Clara laughed. “And you don’t have to know the names of the hors d’oeuvres. You just eat them and try not to think of what they’re made from.”
Gabe looked intrigued. “Like, snails, and stuff?”
“Snails, livers, fish eggs, beaver glands.”
“No!”
“You’d be surprised. And anyway, I’ve got plenty of my own baggage. We can have matching luggage.”
“What do you think about matching rings?”
Clara stilled. “Rings, really?”
Gabe scowled. “That’s what is supposed to happen next, isn’t it? Rings and marriage?”
“Do you want to marry me?”
“Do you want to marry me?”
