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And yet every cell in my body wants me to cross this kitchen.

Touch her.

Pull her against me.

Find out if cinnamon and honey taste as good as they smell.

She takes a step closer. My tail curls around her ankle.

Fuck.

We both look down. Neither of us moves.

“Damian?”

“Don’t.”

Her smile falters.

“Don’t what?”

I force my tail to release her ankle and take a step back.

Instantly, I miss the contact.

“Look at me like that.”

Her brows draw together.

“Like what?”

Like you see a man instead of a monster.

Like you might choose me.

Like I have enough time left for any of this to matter.

I harden my voice instead.

“Like I mean something more to you than a neighbor doing something neighborly.”

Something flashes across her face.

Hurt.

And now I feel like a total piece of crap.

Fuck.

“I wasn’t⁠—”

“It doesn’t matter.”

I turn away before I do something stupid, like apologize. Or worse, tell her I want her looking at me exactly like that.

“Um, your drains are clear.”

“Oh.” A pause. “Well, thank you.”