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She does smell like me. The orc in me is very pleased about it.

“There’s no rule against it,” I say. “Staff dating. I checked the handbook.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “When did you check the handbook?”

“Your second week.”

She bursts out laughing. “Holt Ashford. You researched the dating policy?”

“I like to be prepared.”

“Oh my God.” She wipes her eyes, then sobers a little. “But should we tell her? Make an announcement?”

I think about everything we’re going to have to keep from Prue in the next few weeks. “We’ve already got one secret,” I say. “That’s enough for anybody.”

“Agreed. We act normal. If she asks, we don’t lie.” She holds out her pinkie finger. “Deal?”

I look at her tiny pinkie, then hook mine around it.

“Deal.”

Prue’s hatchback rattles around the bend. She parks, climbs out, and looks us over. She examines Wren’s leg, checks out the fleece, then studies my face for a long second, and her mouth twitches.

“You’ve been through quite an ordeal,” she says. “Go home. Mandatory rest for both of you. I don’t want to see either of you for two days.”

Wren’s apartment is up a steep flight of outside stairs, and her shin is swollen and purple. My cabin has one level and a couch that fits me, so I take her home with me.

The next morning, I wake up with her hair in my mouth and her cold feet on my shins, and I’ve never been happier in my life.

I get up and make pancakes. They’re the only thing I cook well. I make a tall stack with syrup and blueberries. She limps into the kitchen in my flannel shirt, her hair sticking up on one side, and I pull out a chair for her.

She walks right past it and climbs into my lap.

I wrap an arm around her waist. “What are you doing?”

“Eating breakfast.” She steals my fork. “Your lap is warmer than that chair, and I can reach the pancakes from here.”

“You have your own chair.”

“Do you want me to move?”

“Never.” I set down the syrup and slide one hand under the hem of the flannel, over her bare stomach and up until I find the warm curve of her breast. My thumb brushes the little steel barbell, and she sucks in a breath.

“Keep eating,” I murmur in her ear.

“How am I supposed to eat when you’re…” Her voice catches as my thumb circles. “Holt.”

“Eat your pancakes, little bird.” I gently take her earlobe between my teeth, right beside the silver hoops. “I’m going to sit here and play with you while you eat every bite.”

She takes a bite, her hand shaking. I roll the barbell between my thumb and finger, and she makes a soft, helpless sound with her mouth full of pancake.

I’ve never had anyone in my kitchen. I’ve never had anyone in my lap. I could do this every morning for the rest of my life.

“This is extremely unfair,” she says when she can speak. “What would Prue say if she could see us right now?”

“She’d say, ‘I told you so.’”

Wren twists around to stare at me. “Told you what?”