Page 169 of Nobody Told Me Thrift Shops Sell Stolen Dragon Heirlooms

Rafe didn’t move.

My eyes fluttered closed.

The last thing I remembered before sleep took me was his hand resting lightly on the quilt near my knee, not touching me, exactly, but close enough that even unconsciousness seemed to know he was there.

22

RAFE

I'M OLD, NOT BLIND.

Quinn fell asleep before the mummy was defeated.

I knew this because she had been explaining, in a fever-softened murmur, that Evie was the only sensible person in the film and that Brendan Fraser “understood the assignment spiritually,” and then, mid-sentence, her head had settled more heavily against my shoulder.

I didn’t move.

For several minutes, I sat there in the dim light of Quinn’s small living room, one arm resting along the back of the sofa, her weight warm against my side. Her hair had come loose from the knot she’d made before the movie, soft strands falling against my shirt. The quilt had slipped from one shoulder. I adjusted it carefully, tucking it higher without waking her.

Max opened one eye.

“I have it handled,” I murmured.

He closed his eye again, accepting my competence.

A sick woman sleeping on my shoulder, and an elderly dog trusting me enough to stay at my feet shouldn’t have stirred such intense emotions inside me. But as I sat there, I couldn’t deny that it did. I couldn’t deny that this space that smelled faintly of eucalyptus cough drops and the lavender detergent Quinn used on her blankets put me at ease and had me wanting to spend more time here.

There was nothing grand in it.

That was the problem.

I had spent most of my life surrounded by scale. Estates. Pack obligations. Boardrooms. Archives. Relics old enough to make men speak softly. My father’s business, my mother’s illness, our family’s history, the long work of recovery. Everything important had always arrived large enough to require strategy.

This place? A woman breathing easier because I had brought soup; a dog fed correctly; a blanket pulled back over a shoulder; a movie I didn’t understand and would likely watch again if she asked… it appealed to me more than it should have.

For one treacherous moment, I let myself imagine a life organized around ordinary care. Unpacking groceries in Quinn’s small kitchen. Max’s leash on the hook by the door. Her blue chair repaired because she liked it, not replaced because replacement was easier. Mornings where the first urgent matter wasn’t a meeting or a dispute between wolves who thought lineage was character. Evenings where the work ended because there was someone waiting, and staying wasn’t another obligation but the point.

The image hurt, mostly because part of me wanted it with embarrassing force.

Quinn shifted against me, her brow tightening. I let a little heat gather in my palm and rested it near her shoulder, not touching skin, only warming the quilt where she’d gone cold. Her face eased.

I wanted to kiss her.

The thought came with such clarity that I closed my eyes, though, if I was honest, I’d wanted to kiss her since the gala. I’d restrained myself every time because she was professionally tied to me. Dependent, in some small way, on my recommendation and my restraint. My desire for her didn’t make those facts disappear.

So I sat there and didn’t take what wasn’t offered.

Eventually, the credits rolled. The television asked if we were still watching, which seemed intrusive for an appliance.

Quinn stirred when I shifted. “’m awake.”

I almost smiled. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”

She made a sound of protest. I helped her sit up, then stand, keeping one hand at her elbow while she shuffled toward the bedroom wrapped in her quilt. Max rose at once and followed, nails clicking softly on the floor.

At her bedside, Quinn looked at me through fever-bright eyes. “You don’t have to stay.”

“I know.”