“Yes. Is any of this…” he shrugged. “Doinganythingfor you?”
“No,” I said. None of it felt related to me. No memories were triggered. “That’s bad, isn’t it?”
"There’s no reason to worry yet. We started with a gentle approach.”
"And now?"
"We’ll have to try something more intense."
19.Turning up the Heat and Other Cooking Metaphors
Max
Angel lessons were paused. Frost called the next step ‘intense’ and ‘how we’re meant to commune.’ He thought I might need a break to prepare. I had to reluctantly agree with him. But as angelic progress halted, something else flourished.
Lysander and I were dating our way. A lot was similar to before, hanging out with Lysander. Except later in the evening when he finished his work. I even managed to pay attention and participate in our other attempts at dating, a big improvement over our first date. We didn’t often get to spend a whole day together like when we were trying to figure out the secrets of my existence, but there was also less angst due to not having to dive into the painful memories of the recent past. The tradeoff seemed more than fair.
But tonight…tonight was different.
I sat on a stool in front of his kitchen island. "Can I help?"
"Not much left to do right now.” Lysander checked on a pot at the stove, giving it a stir before turning to me. "Would you like a glass of wine?” He winced a second later. “Oh, um never mind."
"No, I’ll have one,” I said, then immediately second-guessed myself. “Wait, can I have wine?"
"There’s no reason to believe you’re under 21." Our estimated age range was 23-26.
"I’m still on some meds, so…"
"Yeah, we’ll skip the wine."
We glanced at each other, uncertain and awkward, then realizing how silly we were acting, we shared a laugh.
When I finally declared myself ready to move on from the joys of macaroni and see if any other food came close, Lysander offered to cook for me. In his apartment. Just me, him, and a night in his apartment.
Nothing had to happen. But itcould.
He even wore his best shirt. The cerulean color of his long-sleeved V-neck had quickly become my favorite shirt, my favorite color, favorite everything. The shirt accentuated the subtle blue tints in his eyes.
“Bread?” Lysander offered, still warm from the oven. “Bread instead of wine.”
“Is that your standard move?” I inspected the unopened bottle of red wine, all the info on the artistically aged label going over my head. “Stay in and cook dinner, then everybody has a few glasses of wine, and you make your move. That’s how you get the guy?”
“Yes.” Oh. Wow. How many guys had he done this exact thing with—his lips quirked up. “I suppose thatwouldbe my move, if I dated enough to have actual moves.”
"Oh?"
Lysander kept talking with his back to me as he checked on the food. "Every so often I realize I’m too absorbed in work or someone else reminds me to try having a personal life. So I try for a week or two, nothing sticks, and I go back to work. Nothing went much farther than a few dates or something casual, nothing so…"
"Romantic?"
"I’ve always had trouble clicking with guys,” he continued. “Either they’re in my world—"
"The supernatural world?" Hopefully that wasn’t a deal breaker. That would make no sense and I was in that world too.
"No, well, yes, the supernaturallaw enforcementworld. In which case we’re both too busy and we only talk about work. Or they’re not Aware and it feels wrong. Holding back our paranormal secrets is necessary until we know someone better and start building something serious, but I’ve never felt totally comfortable with that. If I can’t talk about my job or being a fox shifter, then I’m not sharing two fundamental pieces of my life. It feels like starting a relationship with a lie."
"O-oh." Now I regretted not having that wine.
