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“He wants to go outside,” Taavi said softly.

Oh.

I shoved myself to my feet and padded over to the sliding glass door that led out into the back yard, the giant badger shuffling along beside me.

I looked down at him as I flipped the latch. “I mean it about the flowerbeds,” I told him.

I got a grunt in response, so I opened the door and watched my furry best friend waddle his way out into the muddy yard, past Gregory’s prized flowerbeds and winterized tiered garden boxes. The pathways between the beds were granite gravel, but beyond the edge the rest of the yard had been converted back to wild prairie, paths cut into it that led into the patch of woods that covered the rest of the Cranes’ acreage.

Their property was north of Shawano itself, but still south of the Reservation by a little over three miles. There were farms between here and there, but it was a distance Elliot and I had gone before—me hiking along the edges of fields and tractor tracks, Elliot frequently shuffling—as he was now—alongside me, his claws often finding better traction than I did in hiking boots.

I waited in the doorway to see if he wanted me to follow him, but he didn’t turn around and look back, so I figured he wanted some time alone to dig through the dirt. He did that sometimes, too. Especially when he wanted to get out of his own head.

I couldn’t really blame him.

So I closed the sliding door and turned back to the other man who was causing me anxiety.

I had no fucking idea what to say to him.

Apparently I didn’t have to say anything, because he pushed himself to his feet and padded back into the kitchen.

Not knowing what the fuck else to do, I followed him.

“Taavi—”

He started putting dishes in the dishwasher. “What?” He sounded tired.

“I—”

“If you’re going to apologize for something, don’t.”

I shut my mouth. I had been going to apologize. For keeping him awake half the night. For being a jackass. For being even more of a jackass the several nights before when I hadn’t come back to him at all. For not helping him in the kitchen. For getting slightly drunk, although that was wearing off faster than I really wanted it to.

“I love you?” I tried instead.

He paused in loading the dishwasher. “Is that a question?”

“No.” I felt my ears heating up. “I do love you.”

“I love you, too.” He went back to the dishes.

I decided I could at least help and took the pot I’d made the choux in to wash in the sink. Because I know better than to put a nice stainless pot in the dishwasher.

“Taavi?”

“What, Val?”

I had so many questions. I picked one. “Do you not feel comfortable shifting around Elliot?”

He sighed. “I don’t feel comfortable shifting,” he answered.

“At all?”

“At all,” he confirmed.

I thought about it. I’ve known quite a few shifters, but mostly only in passing. Of the three I knew well—Elliot, Rajesh Parikh, and Taavi—it was true that Taavi didn’t shift nearly as often as Elliot always had, but I’d only ever seen Raj in fur once. But what the fuck did I know about it? And now I felt guilty for not asking about it sooner, because I felt like that was a thing I should have known.

“Do you—not like being a dog?”