Page 11 of True North
Maybe JT was just a good person. He’d heard those existed.
Misha tasted the air, breathing in JT’s scent that was becoming so familiar to him. He crossed the yard, enjoying the sensation of the soft grass beneath the pads of his paws, so different from the rotting leaves and twigs of the forest, which he also enjoyed but in a different way. On the deck, he sat down and huffed to alert JT to his presence. When JT didn’t react, he huffed again, more loudly, and this time JT turned and saw him and smiled. He lifted one hand in a wave.
Misha fought down the surge of pleased embarrassment that flooded his body. He kept coming back, but JT kept welcoming him. Misha wasn’t unwanted here.
He went down the stairs to the jetty. JT had turned around again and gone back to his fishing, which made Misha feel more at ease than if JT had immediately abandoned what he was doing. JT was fitting Misha into his daily routine: not an interruption but an addition.
Misha lay down on the dock beside JT’s chair and rested his chin on top of his paws. The sun had passed its zenith and was lowering toward the lake, sending long golden rays over the water. This was a beautiful part of the world, with its lakes and green woods, and when Misha had the chance, he loved to find a spot near the lakeshore where he could be still and watch the water. Most of the time he needed to be searching for food, but here, with JT, there was a good chance he was going to get fed. He could take a few minutes to enjoy the view.
JT hooked a fish before long and reeled it in: a fairly big one, Misha didn’t know what kind. He had never done much fishing in Russia, and anyway the fish were all different here. JT worked the hook from the fish’s gaping mouth and offered it to Misha, still wriggling.
It looked good. Misha hesitated for a moment, a little uncertain about eating a live, raw fish when JT knew he was a person. Hunger won out. He lifted his head and delicately, careful not to make any sudden movements, sank his teeth into the body of the fish and took it from JT’s hand.
JT said something. Misha glanced up at him. JT was smiling, his eyes creased at the corners. He turned away to put fresh bait on his hook, and Misha settled in to enjoy his snack and tried not to think about how warmed he felt by JT’s smile.
JT caught another fish and gave that one to Misha, too, and then began packing away his things in the tackle box. Misha stripped meat from the fish’s long backbone and watched JT work. He had big but surprisingly graceful hands that expertly picked apart the knots in the fishing line. Misha wondered what he did for work. Manual labor? That seemed unlikely, given the big lake house and the gleaming truck. Maybe he had family money and worked for pleasure rather than income. Maybe he didn’t work at all. He seemed to leave the house every day, but not at any consistent time. Misha couldn’t ask him, so it would have to remain a mystery, at least for the time being.
JT rose from his chair and tilted his head toward the house, his eyebrows raised in inquiry. Misha snapped down the rest of his fish and followed.
He shifted on the deck and walked into the house in his human form, shaking off his lingering uncertainty. JT’s smile heated Misha’s cheeks, and he ducked his head as he crossed the threshold, pleased and shy and nervous. He liked to be around JT, and that was frightening because it skirted too close to all the things about himself that Misha tried not to dwell on. There were words for men like him, and none of them were flattering.
JT brought him a pair of athletic shorts, and Misha obediently put them on even though he didn’t see the need; it wasn’t cold in the house. But if JT wanted him to wear clothes, he would. He trailed after JT curiously as JT went over to the refrigerator and opened the door. The interior was crammed with food, more than Misha’s brain could process, a riot of colors and shapes filling every shelf. JT selected two bottles and offered them to Misha. One held a clear fluid: probably water, Misha decided. The other was dark with a red label, and Misha recognized it, after a moment, as Coca-Cola, and remembered that Coke was delicious. He took the bottle from JT’s hand.
JT grinned and shook his head. He opened the water bottle and took a swallow, and Misha wondered for a moment if he had done something wrong. But he was too tempted by his soda to spend more than a second worrying about it.
The Coke tasted even better than he remembered, fizzy and sweet. Misha took small sips to make it last longer. He leaned back against the countertop and watched JT start to take things from the fridge: a plastic carton of salad greens, a container shaped like an onion that he unscrewed to reveal, unsurprisingly, half of a purple onion. Was he going to cook something? Misha was hungry, even after the two fish, but he didn’t want to eat a bowl full of lettuce. He had spent enough time in the woods eating actual leaves.
“Pizza,” Misha said hopefully.
JT turned to look at him, holding a tomato in one hand. Misha widened his eyes and tried to look cute. JT’s mouth pursed and then twitched into a smile.
“Okay,” JT said. “Pizza.”
Misha was thrilled to have gotten his way and watched eagerly as JT took out a frozen pizza and removed the plastic wrapper. The last pizza JT had made for him had beensogood, with hot cheese and a crisp crust. What Misha most missed eating were the familiar foods of his childhood, pelmeni and golubtsy, but pizza came in a close second. His stomach growled in anticipation as JT turned on the oven.
JT handed him a knife and the tomato. Misha accepted both, uncertain what JT wanted him to do. He knew what to do with a knife, obviously, but there were so many ways to cut a tomato. JT watched him for a moment and then turned away to unplug his phone from its charger. Misha brightened, because now they would be able to talk.
“Can you chop it?” the phone said, after JT spoke into it for a moment. “Like for a salad.”
Misha nodded. He could handle chopping a tomato if JT was so determined to have his salad. Misha couldn’t imagine a good reason to eat leaves if one had any better option.
JT smiled at him. He tapped at his phone and music started playing from a pair of speakers on the counter, something Misha didn’t recognize. JT took a colander from one of the cabinets and began washing the greens at the sink. Misha set the tomato on the cutting board and sliced it in half. The knife was good quality, heavy and sharp, and went cleanly through the tomato and hit the cutting board with a satisfyingthunk. It was cozy here in JT’s house, with music playing, as they made a meal together that they would sit down at the table and share. Misha hadn’t felt this much like a person in a long time. With a glad heart, he rotated the tomato to make a second cut.
* * *
JT should have put his foot down about the frozen pizza, but he couldn’t resist the look on Misha’s face, even though he knew Misha was manipulating him. Misha had just looked sohopeful, and anything that got food into Misha’s body was a positive in JT’s eyes. The guy could stand to put on at least twenty pounds and maybe closer to thirty.
Working with Misha in the kitchen was easier and less awkward than JT had expected. Between JT’s phone and hand gestures, they put together a nice salad with avocado and grated cheese and half a can of chickpeas. When the pizza was done cooking, they took everything over to the table, and JT even brought out the cloth napkins his mother had bought him for Christmas a few years ago, which he typically used only when she came over for dinner. It was like he was an actual grown-up person having a guest over for a planned dinner instead of a meddling busybody inviting a shifter into his house on a whim.
Like he had before, Misha ate as if someone would snatch the food away if he didn’t finish it quickly enough. He demolished the entire pizza after glancing at JT for permission to eat the final few slices, then turned his attention to the salad. His pace finally began to slow partway through his second full plate of salad, and he glanced up and met JT’s eyes and smiled sheepishly. JT returned the smile. Misha wouldn’t let anyone else get near him, not even other shifters, but here he was in JT’s house, wearing JT’s shorts and eating JT’s food, seemingly totally comfortable.
When Misha was finished and JT had eaten the remaining salad, he loaded the dishwasher and wiped down the counters as Misha hovered at his shoulder, watching him work. JT used his phone to ask Misha if he wanted anything else to eat, and Misha shook his head.
“Okay,” JT said. “Would you like another shower?”
Misha hesitated for a moment, then held out his hand for the phone. JT showed him where to touch on the screen to change the input language. “If you don’t mind,” the phone said, “can I take a bath?”
“Oh—sure,” JT said, a little taken aback but pleased that Misha felt comfortable enough to ask. The only tub in the house was in the ensuite attached to his bedroom, and he felt weird about leading Misha past his bed and into his bathroom and letting him wash his hair with JT’s own shampoo. Not weird enough that JT was going to turn him down, though. He took the phone back from Misha and said, “Would you like me to cut your hair?”