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Rhys let a little of his amusement show as she actually counted her options off with her fingers. She was damn cute, even if he disliked the uncertainty and discomfort he sensed from her. He let a low chuckle drift past his lips, which he suspected were lifted in a faint grin, and tucked his hands into his pockets. “I don’t need anything right now.” Nothing out of the fridge that was shorter than him, anyway.
Amaia drew a breath, lowered her arms, and said, “All right. Um, sit wherever you’d like.” She glanced toward her living room with a visible wince.
Rhys felt his body tense, telling him something waswrong. He couldn’t smell another person, or even an animal, but that only meant so much in overcrowded cities like these. Judging from the tightness in her shoulders, however, this particular problem wasn’t an external one. “We can go somewhere more public if you’re not comfortable,” he said. It wasn’t his preference, but if that was what it took to get her to relax around him, he’d put up with it.
Amaia jerked her focus back to him, her loose brown hair swaying a little with the sharp motion. “Sorry! No. No, it’s fine. It’s just embarrassing. I feel like I’m seeing this place for the first time, and it’s old. I suppose it’s not super messy, but pretty much everything here is some kind of second-hand thing and it shows. So, I’m sorry for that.”
Rhys frowned, stepped forward, and scooped Amaia’s hand into his before striding into her living room. She sucked in a startled breath at the movement but offered no resistance as he pulled her along. He would have liked to take the armchair and settle her in his lap, for all the opportunities that would provide, but it was too soon. So he dropped onto her two-seater sofa and tugged her beside him, ensuring she landed flush against his side. She caught herself by bracing her free hand on his arm as her shoulder leaned into his, and Rhys bit back a smile.
He kicked his feet up on the coffee table, making himself comfortable. The fact that he’d gotten himself an invitation into her current home after only a few minutes of talking gave him hope. The idea that she remembered possibly nothing of her life—and heritage—from Idaho had him concerned.
“Jeez,” Amaia said, carefully straightening herself. Her fingers fidgeted against his palm, but she didn’t pull away.
Rhys studied her from the corner of his eyes for a moment. They could languish in semi-awkward conversation, trying to find their footing with each other until his restraint snapped and she tossed him out. But that wascounterproductive. He was eager to move things forward. In small part because he wanted to get back to his territory, to make sure his pack was taken care of. Mostly because this woman had awakened a powerful craving inside of him. He didn’t have the patience for casual conversation. “How much do you remember?”
Amaia adjusted a little, leaning her shoulder into the back of the couch and staring up at him. “Of you?”
His lips twitched. “Me, or anything else. Of Marlow and the people there.”
Her brow furrowed. “Marlow…?” She said the word slowly, as if she were testing it. As if it were almost familiar, though it clearly wasn’t.
He stroked his thumb along the back of her knuckles, her skin soft beneath his. “Marlow is the community where I’m from. Where you’re from.”
She arched a brow. “Community?” Her face scrunched slightly. “That makes it sound like some kind of religious, cultish thing.”
Rhys laughed before he could stop himself. “It’s nothing like that,” he said. “I think the legal term is ‘unincorporated community,’ but it’s just a damn small town.”
Amaia blinked at him, her brown eyes shining.
He offered her a grin. “Not what you expected?”
She dropped his gaze and her fingers pressed into his skin. “No,” she said. “I definitely imagined someone like you being more of a gym-junkie type. Does Marlow have a gym?”
He grinned. “We have something better.” He met her gaze when she lifted her head again. “We’re backed up against the edge of protected wilderness.”
Her eyes widened for a moment, and then she deflated, looking away entirely. “That sounds amazing. I wish I remembered it.”
That pretty well killed his amusement, even if he’d suspected as much. “You don’t remember anything?” From his own faded recollection, and Thomas’s retelling, Rhys knew she’d been young when her mother took her away. But not so young as to recall absolutely nothing.
Amaia drew a breath as sadness overtook her scent. “I have some … flashes, I guess,” she said, almost hesitantly. “Greenery—which I suppose makes sense now—and the feeling of people always around.” She pulled her lip between her teeth for a moment, but it was clear she had more to say. “Mostly, when I try, I see the house we used to live in before my dad died. But we left pretty much right after, although I don’t think I wanted to. We didn’t even take a lot with us.”
That added up with the information Rhys had, of course. “I’m sorry about your dad,” he said. He was pretty sure he’d never had the chance to say those words when they were kids, though he had since recalled a shadowed image of her crying on her doorstep. In his gut, he knew that was the last time he’d seen her. Thinking about that made him hold tighter to her hand. “I don’t think I got to say that before.”
Amaia was quiet for a moment. Then she leaned her shoulder against his arm again and softly asked, “Were we friends, as kids?” She paused only long enough to lick her lips. “It feels awkward to ask that, it’s just … the therapist I had in college suggested that I might have repressed some of my earlier childhood memories. I always figured it had to be because of dad’s death and not being able to visit his grave or anything.” Her voice choked faintly. “Mom used to get mad when I’d ask, so I gave up. I tried running away once to go by myself. I figured whatever family it was that wanted us to stay away wouldn’t recognize me, and didn’t have the right regardless, but I only got as far as the airport before I realized I didn’t know where I needed to go.”
She gave a weak laugh and slumped back against the sofa beside him. “That was my big teenage rebellion.”
Rhys dragged in careful breaths through his nose until he was sure he wouldn’t growl when he spoke. As comfortable as she seemed with him at the moment, he was well aware he hadn’t properly earned her trust yet. The last thing he needed to do was go on a tirade against her mother. The woman who might have been her only family for most of her life—from Amaia’s perspective. But he couldn’t quite contain himself. “Is that what she told you?”
Amaia made a sound of confusion and straightened. “What do you mean?”
“Your mother,” he said, seeking out her gaze again. “Did she really tell you that you couldn’t return because you had local family who’d disowned you?”
She pursed her lips a little. “More or less.”
He nearly forgot her very fragile, human hand was still tucked into his larger, stronger human-shaped palm. His free hand curled into a fist. “That’s bullshit.”
Her eyes widened for an instant before narrowing with a flare of indignation. “I’m not sure what your angle is, Rhys, but I think my mom would know our family’s situation a little better than a guy who wasalsoa kid back then.”
