Page 73 of Dark Notes

She stares at the rack in the dishwasher, sets the plate in the wrong way, studies it for a moment, then turns it. “Like this?”

I nod. The realization that she’s never loaded a dishwasher makes me appreciate a lot of things in life, putting her at the top of that list.

With a stoic expression, she helps me finish the dishes in silence. I give her the time to think, to weigh her pride against mine. When the cleanup is completed and the counters are wiped down, I turn to her.

She stands just out of arm’s reach, her small frame swallowed by the t-shirt as she stares at her bare feet. “The thing I value most doesn’t cost a dime, yet it seems to be the hardest for people to give.”

Friendship? Protection? Love? My head swims, searching for the answer. “Name it, and it’s yours.”

Her eyes find mine, and she steps forward. Another step, and her arms encircle my waist. She presses her cheek against my chest, skin-to-skin, and releases a heavy sigh.

A hug. That’s the thing she values most.

My ribs tighten as I embrace her, crushing her as close as possible without bruising her soft skin. She’s a head shorter, too short to feel her heart pounding against mine. So I catch her beneath her knees and back, swoop her up, and hoist her against my chest.

I flick the light switch with my elbow and head for the stairs.

She snuggles against me, hands snaking over my shoulders and sliding into my hair. Her entire body relaxes in my arms as she nuzzles her face against my cheek, touching, breathing, feeling me. “I should tell you to put me down, but I like this too much.”

Good thing, because I’m not letting go.

As we reach the bedroom, she murmurs against my neck. “I need to go home in the morning to get clothes and feed Schubert.”

I bite down on my smile. “Do you feed him brains?”

“What?” Her startled expression eases into a glimmering smile. “Not the dead Schubert. My cat.”

“We’ll swing by your house before school, but you don’t need clothes.”

I enter the closet and set her on her feet. Stepping back, I lounge against the door jamb and block her exit. When she realizes just how fucking crazy I am, there’s no telling how fast she’ll run.

She circles the island in the center, rubbing the back of her neck. “Your closet is bigger than my house.”

I slide my hands in the pockets of my flannel pants and wait.

Her gaze snags on the far wall, and her hesitant strides carry her toward it. She trails a hand over the long shelf of high-heels, flats, sandals, and tennis shoes. Tilting her head, she stares up at the racks of dresses, shirts, and trousers. The entire wall is hers.

Her shoulder blades tighten, her hands falling to her sides as she speaks with her back to me. “Do you have an alternative lifestyle I don’t know about? A fetish with women’s clothing?”

“Something like that.”

She snatches a beige Louboutin pump from the shelf and checks the size. “How did you—” She sighs, returning it carefully to its place. “The first day, when you slid my shoes back on.”

My blood pumps thick and hot in my veins. Separated by the island and the length of the room, I watch her peruse the clothes, anticipating her next words.

“I ca—” She whirls toward me, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I know. No I can’ts. No sniveling. No questioning your methods.” She hooks an arm around her waist and presses a fist to her mouth, staring at me from beneath her lashes. “It’s a lot to take in, but I’m trying.” She stands straighter, glancing at the clothes behind her. “It’s just…this is all too much, too fast, and—”

“Come here.” I remove my hands from my pockets, my posture open, welcoming.

She crosses the room in a vision of dark skin, thin cotton, and allure.

When she reaches me, I lift her and carry her to the bed. “What’s mine is yours, Ivory. The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be.”

Shifting under the blankets, she stares up at me. “If I don’t accept it?”

I slip in beside her, pull her to my chest, and entwine our legs together. “Then you get to endure more of my… What did you call it?” I lean in and kiss her bottom lip. “Abrasive and surly temper.”

“There’s medication for that.”

“You’re the only drug I need.” Reaching back, I switch off the light and rest my head on her pillow, our faces inches apart.

The illumination of gas lamps and moonlight filters in through the nearby window, blanketing us in pale silence. Her eyes glisten with wonder, worry, and unspoken words, reflecting all the emotions I openly express in mine.

I brush her hair behind her ear. “I don’t share. That means no more high school or neighborhood boys. You’re in my bed and no one else’s.”