“Mmm,” she hums, clearly unconvinced. “Well, you know whatIwas thinking?”
“What?”
“I was thinking we need to be very thorough with this claiming business. Just to be safe.”
Something tight in my chest eases at her words, at the clear indication that she wants more of me, not less. I bend to press my forehead against hers.
“Very thorough,” I agree, before growling with renewed desire. “We have much to explore together, June.”
“Starting with those other hammocks,” she says decisively. “I want to try all of them.”
I click my mandibles in satisfaction. Whatever comes when the roads clear, for now, my mate is eager and willing in my nest.
That is enough. That is everything.
Chapter 14
Promises, Promises
June
The next two days passin a haze of domesticity that feels almost surreal after years of carefully controlled solitude.
I wake each morning wrapped in silk and limbs, Riven’s massive form curled protectively around me in whatever hammock we’ve ended up in. The first time I stir, he’s already awake, all six eyes tracking my movements with an intensity that should probably unnerve me but instead makes me feel cherished in a way I never have before.
The days blur together inside Riven’s mountain sanctuary, time measured not by hours but by moments of discovery.
Learning to live with a twelve-foot spider man comes with unexpected challenges and surprising comforts.
For one thing, I’ve realized that my grumpy arachnid has absolutely no idea how to make a decent cup of coffee, despite owning a top-of-the-line espresso machine.
“You’re burning it,” I tell him on our fourth morning as I watch him murder perfectly good beans. “The water’s too hot. And you’re grinding them too fine.”
“Impossible,” Riven growls, his eyes fixed stubbornly on the machine as it produces what smells like liquid tar. “I followed the exact specifications from the manual.”
I slip between his massive form and the counter, nudging him aside with my hip. “Coffee isn’t about manuals. It’s about feeling.”
He clicks his mandibles skeptically but doesn’t stop me as I dump his attempt down the drain and start fresh.
“This is why I prefer tea,” he mutters, but watches with obvious fascination as I adjust settings and measure beans by eye rather than his meticulous gram scale.
Once it's finished brewing and I hand him the finished product, he takes a cautious sip, and all six eyes widen simultaneously.
“This is…” he pauses, mandibles working as he searches for the right word, “…acceptable.”
Coming from Riven, that’s practically a standing ovation. I hide my smile in my own mug.
In return for my coffee tutorial, Riven shows me how he creates his art.
I spend hours watching him work in his workshop, perched on one of the silk platforms while he creates new tapestries. His movements in that space are hypnotic. His eight legs work in perfect coordination as his upper body manipulates threads with a delicacy that seems impossible for someone his size. He explains his process in that dry, matter-of-fact tone, pointing out how tension and humidity affect the silk’s behavior, how certain patterns require specific anchor points.
“This one’s for a museum in Seattle,” he says, gesturing to a half-completed piece that depicts mountains at sunset in stunning detail. “They believe I’m some mysterious genius folk artist.”
“Are you not?”
He pauses, and I swear he gets a little bashful. “Well, perhaps.”
Evenings are reserved for reality TV, which remains Riven’s primary anthropological text for understanding human behavior. His commentary has not improved in accuracy, but it has become exponentially more entertaining.
