Page 8 of Chivalry is Not Dead

He takes most of the bags, leaving me with the one containing a loaf of bread and a bag of chips—the lightest cargo. “Thank you.”

His lips quirk at the corner, and I literally and figuratively swoon. Fuck, he’s hot. “You are welcome, Penelope. Lead the way.”

The way? Oh. Right. I guess he’s coming back to my apartment with me.

The walk home is fairly silent. I haven’t had a partner in my apartment… ever. Not that Sanders is a partner! Just, I haven’t been in such close proximity to someone so good looking while also standing in my own personal space. And I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make me feel some type of way.

I fiddle with my key, unlocking the door but not opening it yet. “Do you—I mean, would you mind waiting here for a second?”

He nods, as if understanding the sacredness of welcoming someone into your home. “Take your time.”

I don’t. Take my time, that is. In a flurry, I throw all of my dirty clothes into the hamper, straighten the pillows on the couch, clean up the spilled coffee from this morning, and spray a couple of spritzes of perfume to—I don’t know? Make it more feminine?

Sanders is standing in the exact same position when I return to the hallway. “You did not take your time.”

I wave him off. “It’s fine. Come on in.”

He steps in and immediately freezes, just like at the grocery store. Didn’t he say he comes back every Halloween? Has he never seen the inside of an apartment before?

“It suits you,” he finally breathes out.

Taking a moment, I look at the space through his eyes. My style is… eclectic to put it mildly. There are extra bolts of fabric and a spare sewing machine shoved into a corner, the walls are painted a warm pink with a gallery wall covering most of the space behind the couch, and every piece of furniture is a different color.

I may or may not enjoy thrifting and have never settled on one particular style I love the most. It’s chaotic, but it’s mine and I love it so much.

“I know it’s a lot,” I start, pointing him toward the kitchen counter.

“It is perfect.”

And for some reason those three words send a massive swooping through my belly. I don’t think anyone has ever described anything I touch as perfect. However, I’m not great at accepting compliments, so instead I ignore him and begin unloading the grocery sacks.

“Where are you staying?” It suddenly dawns on me that I know next to nothing about this man.

“Nowhere,” he replies, matter-of-factly.

“Nowhere?” I balk. “Where did you go last night?”

“Nowhere,” he repeats. “I do not usually… there is not a time I have stayed past midnight on All Hallows’ Eve. I always appear in a cemetery and disappear at midnight in the same one. That did not happen last night so I panicked. I walked the graveyard the rest of the night waiting to return to death, and when the sun began to rise, I came to find you.”

That is incredibly endearing. And maybe a bit creepy.

“What are you going to do tonight?”

“The same thing, I suppose.”

“You’re going back to the graveyard?” I gasp. I’m a witch and even that is too much for me. “Let me see if I can find somewhere for you to stay.”

Thirty minutes later I’ve discovered that the local inn is still full from the post-Halloween crowd and the Weres are having some regional meeting so all of their houses are full. Leah seemed entirely too gleeful to inform me that this mystery man I’m “hiding away” would have to stay at my house.

“I’ll bring some supplies over, be there in an hour!” she had screeched into the phone, hanging up before I had a chance to protest.

I guess Leah is meeting Sanders.

5

Never has my oath of protection felt so… primal. My need to safeguard her supersedes coherent thought.

Idouble bolt the door so Leah can’t let herself in like she usually does. She’s pissed about that, and I can tell by the pounding on my door when she arrives. “Bitch, let me in!”