Page 83 of Bookish Girl’s Emergency Contact Is a Lycan King

“About that.” She winces. “Actually, funny story.”

The guest room ceiling is leaking.

I discovered this approximately three hours before she arrived, when I went to check on the room I never use and found a small waterfall cascading from a crack in the plaster. The crack that I noticed six months ago and meant to fix. The crack that I added to my mental maintenance list and then promptly filed under “problems for future Orion.”

Three hundred years old. Survived wars and plagues and the invention of the leaf blower. Defeated by a minor roofing issue.

“I can fix it,” I say, for the fourth time, staring at the collection of pots and pans I’ve arranged to catch the drips. “I just need to…”

“Orion.” Fable is standing in the doorway, looking at the waterfall feature that used to be my guest room with an expression of barely contained amusement. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine. You’re stuck here because of the storm, and I can’t even provide basic shelter…”

“You have a whole house. This is one room.”

“It’s the guest room. For guests. Which you are.”

“Am I?” She tilts her head. “I thought I was your fated mate.”

The words land with the force of a punch.

“Too soon to joke about it?”

“No. Maybe.” I run a hand through my hair. “I don’t know.”

“Then let’s not joke.” She steps closer. “Let’s figure out the sleeping situation like adults and then have the conversation we actually need to have.”

“The couch…”

We both look at Mario, who has somehow expanded to fill the entire couch despite being a fifteen-pound cat. He stares back with an expression that dares us to move him.

“He’ll bite,” I warn.

“He bit you?”

“Twice. When I tried to relocate him earlier.”

“Mario.” Fable’s voice is stern. “You can’t claim an entire couch.”

Mario blinks slowly, which in cat language means I can and I will.

“I could sleep on the floor,” I offer.

“You’re not sleeping on the floor of your own house.”

“It’s comfortable. I’ve done it before.”

“That’s sad. That’s genuinely sad, Orion.”

“It was during a renovation…”

“Still sad.”

She’s laughing now, actually laughing, the sound bright and surprised, and I feel something unknot in my chest that’s been tight for days.

“There’s my bed,” I say quietly. “If you’re comfortable with that.”

Her laughter fades into something softer. “I didn’t drive up here in a snowstorm to sleep in separate rooms.”