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“It means my wolf chose you,” I said. “It means you’re my mate. It means I should’ve told you before anything happened, and I didn’t. That’s on me.”

Niles finally looked at me, those beautiful green eyes full of the hurt I’d put there.

“I didn’t know what I was doing,” I continued. “When I bit you. It wasn’t planned. I wasn’t thinking about mates or bonds or forever. I was just—” I tightened my grip on his wrist, his pulse jumping under my fingers. “I was just with you. In the moment. And my wolf acted before I knew what he was planning.”

“You didn’t choose me.” His voice was barely a whisper. “You’re saying you didn’t choose me. It was your animal and not you, like some kind of instinct.”

“It was more than instinct.”

“But you didn’t choose me.”

“When did I say that?”

He tried to pull his wrist free. I held on just enough to keep him from retreating behind the counter again.

“Let me make this clear,” I said. “My wolf chose you before I even knew what was happening. That part was instinct. But the rest—the phone calls, the water tank, the French toast, every single minute I’ve spent with you since the day you walked into the garage in that skirt—that was me, Niles. Choosing you. Over and over.”

His arm went still in my grip.

“You want to know if I would’ve chosen you?” I stepped closer, close enough to feel the heat of his body. “I already did. Every day. Every call. Every repair. I chose you before the bite. I chose you after. I’m choosing you right now, standing in your apartment while you yell at me.”

“I’m not yelling.”

“You were yelling.”

“I was expressing myself loudly.” His lips twitched. The first crack in the anger. “There’s a difference.”

“Is there?” I wanted to smile, but not until my words had truly sunk in. If I were being honest, I’d fallen for him even before that first phone call. From the moment he’d stepped out of his car in that skirt, with those ridiculously oversized sunglasses perched on his nose.

“I’m still mad at you.”

“I know.” My thumb brushed his wrist, my mind incapable of not giving him some kind of comfort.

“You bit me,” he said with less anger in his tone.

“I know.”

“And you’re a werewolf.”

“Wolf shifter. Werewolves are governed by the moon, shifters aren’t.”

“That’s insane. Wolf shifters aren’t real. Except, apparently, they are, and I slept with one, and he makes really good French toast.” He rested his free hand against my chest. “I don’t know how to be mad at someone who makes me French toast.”

“You’re doing a decent fucking job,” I snorted.

“Shut up.”

I pulled him closer, and he came willingly, his body fitting against mine like it had been designed for this exact purpose. His forehead pressed against my collarbone, and I thanked whoever was listening that Niles hadn’t disowned me.

Or removed my nuts.

“If you ever bite me without asking again, I’ll shave your head in your sleep.”

Or gotten the clippers.

“That’s fair.”

He pulled back just enough to look up at me. His eyes were wet, but his lips were twitching like he was fighting a smile. The tension in his shoulders had finally fully released.