Page 25 of Wolfish
She smiled. “If I didn’t know better, I would say you set this whole thing up.”
He chuckled. “Not me.”
“I’ll stay in your bedroom, better security that way.”
“That’s just what I wanted to hear, or I would be up all night worrying about you staying down the hall.”
“Do you live way out?” she asked, carrying one of her bags while he got the other two.
“I live out of the way so I can run as a wolf anytime I want. But I took several detours also to make sure I wasn’t being followed.”
“I guess I can’t look for an apartment anytime soon.”
“Not until we catch these bastards.”
“Okay.” She didn’t want to impose on Daniel for too long.
When they reached the bedroom, she said, “Oh, how spacious your room is, even with a king-size bed taking up some of the room. I love the big windows on either side of the bed, which offer views of the forest. The windows make me feel like I’m outdoors. How pretty.” She ran her hand over the bedspread. “I love your bedside tables because they have three drawers each, providing more storage. I had just bedside tables, and I always thought I should have bought ones with drawers to organize things better. Love your highboy and the dresser with a mirror, which makes the room look even bigger. Having everything in ivory makes the room look uncluttered and spacious.”
“Thanks. Yeah, I couldn’t figure out a color scheme and saw that online, so just went with that. Just touch the lamps on the bedside table and they come on automatically.”
“That’s cool.” She opened her suitcase and wondered if he had a spare drawer or two.
As if he read her mind, he moved some things out of a few dresser drawers. “You’re not an imposition. I’ll enjoy the company. You can use these drawers, and I’ll move the clothes in the closet so you have room. If you need more space, just let me know.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
He hated living out of a suitcase himself and wanted to make Selena as comfortable as possible. “I’ll start dinner.”
“Do you need me to help with anything?”
“No, just get settled in, and then you can join me.”
She soon joined him in the kitchen, sidling up to his side at the counter, and before he could even finish rinsing the mushrooms, Selena had already commandeered the chef’s knife. She cut up the mushrooms, then placed them in the colander.
He watched as she immediately moved on to the onions, rolling one beneath her palm to loosen the outer skin before pinning it with her thumb and drawing the blade through in a single, confident motion. He cut the steak into cubes and placed them in the saucepan. Selena, meanwhile, hummed tunelessly—not a song he recognized, just a low vibration, a sign she was deep in her own process.
He stole glances at her—her hair hanging in massive curls, wild, her face open and intent on the task, her lips parted only when she exhaled, blinking back onion tears. He liked having her help him with a meal. Even in the kitchen's fluorescent lights, with the tile counters cluttered with pans and bowls, it felt homey. He felt like he had a real person in his life, not just a rotation of guests visiting for a good time.
She reached for the container of sour cream and knocked over the salt shaker instead. When he picked it up for her, she smiled and wiped her wet palms on a paper towel. She watched the onions cooking in the pan.
He was used to cooking alone, used to the silent cadence of chopping, heating, seasoning, and plating. But with her there, it was fun.
They worked in concert, trading off tasks without needing to say what came next. She salted the mushrooms with a flourish, then gestured for him to pour in the wine, which hissed and sent up a vapor of earth and alcohol.
He tossed in the meat; she stirred it with a wooden spoon, scraping the bottom of the saucepan. The whole room filled with an aroma that was both savory and made their stomachs growl, a richness that made him want to eat right out of the pan.
Selena leaned against the counter, arms crossed over her chest, watching him finish up. “My foster mom used to make Hamburger Helper out of a box and call it stroganoff. I thought that was the real thing until I was, like, sixteen.”
“I won’t tell if you don’t,” he said, plating the noodles.
She smiled, and for a moment, there was no banter, no nervous energy. Just the two of them, standing close in the steam and the bright kitchen light.
Then he spooned out the sauce, and she carried the plates to the table.
“This smells delightful,” she said.
“It does. Are you ready to eat?”
