Page 69 of Claimed By the Mothman

“Yet,” snickered Thess, sounding far too pleased with themselves.

In the corner, Ezra cackled like a banshee as Goldie slapped his shoulder.

Nell groaned and buried her face in Sig’s chest.

They danced as the laughter faded and the buffet began to draw new attention (Thess spiking the hummus, Theo trying to sneak a fifth dessert). Sig’s steps remained slow, unhurried, matching her movements perfectly.

Eventually, the cassette ended with a clunky rattle and a low hiss of silence. No one rewound it.

Nell exhaled and gently stepped back. Sig released her at once, his hand falling to his side with a kind of reverent reluctance

“I’m going to sit,” she said, brushing a loose curl behind her ear. “My feet are—”

“I will bring you a plate.”

She blinked. “You don’t have to.”

“I wish to.”

Before she could argue, he turned and strode toward the buffet. Nell stared after him a moment, heart doing a slow, stupid little roll, then made her way to a quieter table near the balcony.

A few minutes later, Sig returned, carrying a plate filled with careful sampling of dishes: fruit, couscous, a few pastries. He set it ceremoniously in front of her.

Nell stared at it. Then up at him. “You’re serious about this courtship thing, aren’t you?”

He drew a breath. “I…yes.”

She nodded, dropping her gaze to the plate. “Okay.”

Sig sat down across from her, folding his legs neatly and resting his hands on his knees like he was trying not to fidget.

Nell picked up a fork and speared a strawberry. “Thank you.”

He inclined his head without saying anything, and simply watched.Attentive, not intense. Like she was a poem he was still learning how to read.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No.”

Her brow furrowed, curious. “You didn’t eat at the dinner party, either.”

A soft, almost sheepish click rang in his throat. “I do not enjoy being watched while I eat. It feels…” His throat clicked quietly. “...too intimate.”

“Too intimate?” she echoed. “What, like, messy?”

He gave a low churr of amusement. “Not necessarily messy. My mannerisms are… ungraceful.”

“Oh.” She considered that. “That’s fair. I used to hide in the bathroom during dessert when I was younger. I hated the feeling of people noticing how much or how little I was eating.”

His antennae dipped. “You understand.”

“I do.” She nudged her plate slightly toward him. “Well. You don’t have to eat in front of me. But if you want to try the couscous later, you can have the rest of mine.”

Sig inclined his head without sarcasm. “Thank you.”

They sat quietly for a moment.

“As long as we’re sharing what we don’t enjoy…I’ve never really enjoyed parties,” Nell said quietly.