I got up from the table and put some butter in the pan on the stove. When I turned to get the diced potatoes, he was sitting on a chair at the table. He already had his socks on and was bent forward to slide his feet into the shoes.
“No, no, no, Clay.” I hurried over, reached out, and almost touched his back before I caught myself and pulled my hand away. “I wasn’t saying you had to wear them.” He continued to tie the shoes. “It’s okay to bring them back if you don’t like them.”
When he finished tying, he stood and looked down at his feet. I could see him wiggle his toes through the canvas and mesh tops. The length seemed to fit well enough. The loose, untied lacing told me they ran a little snug in the width. He moved past me and walked to the sink then back to try out the shoes. What little I could see of his expression appeared relaxed, as did his stride.
“You like shoes but you don’t wear them much, do you?”
He answered with his typical passive shrug as he moved back to the sink.
The sizzle of the potatoes called my attention, and I got another pan out to start the bacon. He used the tools he’d brought up from the basement to try to fix the sink while I cooked. The sound of water running at full pressure heralded breakfast.
“Good to have a handyman,” I commented setting our plates on the table.
Clay cleaned up the tools and disappeared downstairs. I wondered if he would come back in his fur and eyed the plate I’d set on the table for him. We had eaten together before but always with him in his fur. Before I could stop it, an image of him trying to use a fork for the first time popped into my head. I quickly squashed the picture and sat down to wait for him in whatever form he chose. I would not underestimate him again. Nor would I thoughtlessly remark on his table manners no matter how poor they might be.
The soft tread on the stairs warned me that he remained a man. He sat across from me and dug in. He didn’t eat like Clay-the-dog or use his hands. Instead, he had perfectly normal table manners. Though his beard shredded it, he even used his paper napkin in an effort to keep himself neat.
“What are the chances of trimming that beard?”
He used his napkin while he finished chewing and then flashed me a full view of his teeth. His canines remained completely elongated as if he still wore his fur. I froze briefly with my fork suspended midair. Then I gave myself a mental shake. The view scared me, but I reminded myself of Sam’s words. I had nothing to fear.
“Do they stay like that all the time?”
He didn’t answer but continued to eat, slowly clearing his plate. I waited patiently, hoping he’d give me some type of response. This was the second occasion we’d spent time together without his fur since he’d arrived. I knew so little about him and wondered if this was a sign he was ready to start talking to me.
When he finished, he moved to the sink and ran the water. I wasn’t ready to give up. I followed him, leaned against the counter, and studied the little bit of his face I could see.
“Is this something you don’t want to talk about?”
He shrugged. Okay, not a closed topic...and apparently he wasn’t yet ready to speak.
“Is it something I need to guess or can you explain it to me?” I felt like I was playing twenty questions.
He turned to consider me for a moment then went back to washing his plate and fork. Taking the hint, I cleaned up my place while he moved to wipe the stove. I washed and dried my plate and tried to figure out what to ask next. Obviously only yes and no questions even though he hadn’t answered when I asked whether his teeth stayed like that all the time. Perhaps asking about them embarrassed him.
When he returned to the sink, I briefly thought of letting the subject drop, but then he dropped the washcloth into the sink and turned to me. He crossed his arms, leaned against the counter, and watched me. Not just looking at me, but studying me...all of me...as if he weighed a decision. I couldn’t help but return his stare.
We stood just a few inches apart. The close proximity brought the corded muscles under his snug t-shirt to my attention. I tried not to notice. He was downright drool worthy. I considered reaching out to touch him, just to see how he felt without fur. But his possible reaction stopped me. Would he take it as a sign of acceptance? Of interest? I’d meant what I’d said to Rachel. Clay didn’t act like other guys. I didn’t want to push my luck.
With a sigh, he uncrossed his arms and leaned forward. His movement shot a wave of panic straight through me, and I froze. Had he caught me eyeing him? Did he think that meant I wanted him to try to kiss me? I didn’t know what to do.
His nostrils flared. He slowly shook his head and pulled back, and I knew he had smelled my fear. He didn’t completely move away, just distanced himself enough so that I could breathe and think and not freak out. I caught the glint of his eyes behind his long hair. Calm. Patient. So this wasn’t about a kiss. But then what was he trying to do?
“You’re trying to explain the teeth, right?” I sounded pathetic, like a child who needed reassurance. I tried not to fidget on top of that.
He gave me the reassurance I needed in one of his rare nods.
Okay. No kissing. Just him moving closer. He slept at the foot of my bed every night. That was pretty close—right on my feet—and no big deal. But he had fur on when he did that. Now he looked...
I eyed him again. My stomach did a funny flip. Maybe my fear wasn’t about his reaction, but mine. I was afraid I’d forget myself. I needed his control. I took a deep breath.
“It’s okay then. Go ahead, explain. I’ll behave,” I promised quietly. I saw his mustache twitch with a quick smile. The canines explained some of the facial hair, but the full-bearded, crazy-man look seemed overkill.
After a slight hesitation, he leaned forward again while keeping his hands loose at his sides. I pushed back the fear and held still. He didn’t stop his slow approach until his whiskers tickled the side of my neck and collarbone. There he paused and inhaled deeply.
As soon as he inhaled, I knew what he was doing, and although I didn’t move, fear blossomed. Heart pounding, eyes wide, I waited for him to finish scenting me as a werewolf would a potential Mate, not a distant inhale, but an up-close sample of my scent, infinitely more potent. His warm exhale sent goose bumps skittering over my arms. I braced myself, anticipating some type of slip in his highly-praised control. He leisurely inhaled once more then lifted his head, exhaling as he went.
With his face only inches from mine, he opened his mouth to display his teeth again. The canines had grown even more pronounced, the surrounding gums swollen from their thickness.
I didn’t know what to say. He had canines when in his human form because of me.
“So, when you’re around me, they’re worse? I guess that means they’re like that all the time.”
He shrugged and casually took a step back. I was unsure what the shrug meant.
We both heard a car pull into the driveway, and I knew questioning him further would have to wait. I remembered the new clothes still on the bathroom floor and moved away from him.
“I gotta move your clothes. I’ll be right back.”
When I returned, Rachel was kneeling, petting Clay-the-dog. She asked me why we had a man’s clothes on the kitchen chair. Clay impassively met my gaze. Darn him. Why hadn’t he just stayed Clay-the-man?
“Clay stopped by and fixed the sink. He figured he would leave a change of clothes because of last night,” I lied. Thankfully, Rachel focused on the fixed plumbing rather than the fact I had a man leaving clothes behind at our house.