Page 58 of Below the Shadow of the City

I jot it down right below his list, my wavy script-shorthand contrasts his neat writing. “You got one for my parents and I when my dad was in the hospital. It—It was one of the best desserts I’d had. I thought about it, and you, for days.” He takes the pen and paper back from me and looks at the list.

“You’re nearly halfway there, in that case.”

I put my hands on my hips once the ingredients are laid out on his kitchen island. “I don’t know, maybe I’m crazy for thinking that I could actually pull this off.”

“Hey, hey,” he stands over me and gently tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear, the soft fur on the back of his hand grazes my cheek. “You’re not crazy, you have a month, you have whatever resources you need here, and you have me. I’ll be your assistant, your scribe, your cheerleader. Whatever you want me to be for you, I’ll be it, Sigrid.”

I don’t need an assistant or scribe or cheerleader. I just need to be here with Maddox. I need the security of his touch, and the warmth of his presence. And I need to tell him I love him, without the stress and urgency I had before.

I’ve reminded myself of the need to correct my hasty admission multiple times this week. In between meetings, on the subway home, while I made dinner. I’d scripted better, calmer, love confessions. I even said it in the mirror, putting emphasis on a different word each time. “I love you, Maddox. I love you, Maddox. I love you, Maddox.”

I practiced like I’d never said the words before. And I wondered if I hadn’t actually said them properly. All those past relationships when the words slipped out like an exhale without any thought behind them seem to mean nothing now.

“I still love you,” I blurt, completely unraveling any rehearsed plans I had.

“I still love you too…I didn’t realize that could have changed since last weekend,” he chuffs.

“It didn’t,” I reply. “I just needed to say it again, not in a panic, and not in the basement. Because I really do love you, Maddox.”

“Say it often as you want, wherever you want, however you want, because I’ll never get tired of hearing it,” he sighs.

CHAPTER 24

THURSDAY, EARLY NOVEMBER

Recipe number five is well under way, now. The maple pumpkin pie is about to be slid into the oven and I’m tidying up while I wait for it to preheat. It’s gotten easier and easier to come to Maddox’s place for this. I know that his generosity isn’t solely because he has a kitchen almost the size of my apartment. And I know it isn’t because I’ve repaid him in sex each time I’ve come over. Though I’m sure he wouldn’t complain about that aspect.

I’ve never been with someone that my body fits so well with. Our rhythms, our energy, our orgasms are all perfectly synced. They shouldn’t be, he’s so much larger than me, his biology offers different things. Even in the impossibility of it all, it works. When he knots me my body grips around his in a way that makes me feel like he’s an extension of me.

Sex is still so much easier than letting my feelings show. My body does a better job of showing affection than my words do.

Tonight, he’s cleaning up behind me, obsessed with having “something to do” while I cook a vanilla bean custard to be turned into an ice cream. Every so often I steal a glance at him, still amazed at the marvel that is Maddox. When I hand him the spoon and ask him to stir the pot so its contents don't burn, his massive hand dwarfs it. His tail sways back and forth as he hums along to the music coursing through the speaker system in his apartment. His tongue sometimes flicks across his fangs when he’s particularly interested in the process, or me, or both.

This beast of a man towers over me, yet has an ever-present playfulness that makes even the most boring of baking related tasks better. It’s especially apparent when earlier tonight he had decided to put on “One Day More” from Les Mis and perform every single part for me. Enthusiastically. And shockingly well. I know the entire song by heart myself, and my heart tugged at me to join along with him. I couldn't bring myself to completely let loose. When Maddox caught me mumbling the words, he smirked. But he never pushes.

He never pushes anything, truly. It’s wonderful to have someone be so tender with me.

I’m staring at him, and he catches it.

“What?” He laughs.

“Nothing,” I answer meekly, my skin tightening around my cheeks in a sheepish smile and my chest warming.

Maddox gestures to the empty bowl beside me, “is that good to get washed?”

I had forgotten what I was doing. The sounds of him cleaning have served as white noise to my thoughts wandering. Unsurprisingly, they’ve wandered to him, over and over again. I nod, and he reaches towards the bowl. The fur on his arm grazes against me when he wraps his hand around the lip. I shiver at the feeling of his touch, even though we’ve done much more than merely brush against one another. He jerks back himself, and our eyes meet like we’ve just created static electricity together.

This domestic dance is a glimpse of all I’d ever dreamt of. I’m in a beautiful kitchen, recipe testing for a cookbook, with an attractive partner who would give me the moon if he could. I probably have a vision board from college stuffed in the back of my closet with this exact scenario. I couldn’t be happier, even if it’s not as simple as a collage of photos on poster board.

Everything has an asterisk. The beautiful kitchen isn’t mine, the recipe testing is because I’m under a time crunch of my own making, and the handsome man isn’t really a man at all. It all comes together and is perfect in its own way.

For years I tried to follow a recipe to make my vision board become real. I told myself that if I did things right I could avoid heartbreak and failure. When I followed the recipe and things still didn’t go how I wanted, I gave up. Just like baking, in life you have to trust the process and yourself. Sometimes things go wrong, even if you thought you did everything right. I didn’t follow any tried and tested recipe to get here. I ignored instructions, I overthought things, and despite it all, I have exactly what I wanted.

There’s still the tiniest devil on my shoulder whispering that it’s going to all crash and burn, but it's getting quieter and quieter. I know that what we’re doing now in his apartment is something very much reserved for committed couples. Of course he wouldn’t let me in on a whim and use his kitchen for this project if he didn’t want me around. He wouldn’t suggest naming one of the recipes “rom com confession cake” if he didn’t think there was anything meaningful between us.

As I flick on the oven light I know that I want every evening to be spent in the warm glow of his brick-walled apartment. When I see how my mixer fits on his countertop I silently wish that this place would someday belong to both of us.

I’d been wiping the counter in the same circle over and over again without realizing. I don’t notice until Maddox stands beside me and lays his palm atop my hand. “I think that spot is clean enough by now,” he rumbles. I glance down at the wet spot I’ve made with the rag. The pie is sitting on the counter, there are a few hours before we can tuck into it.