“Bash, no.”
“Fine, I’ll draw a picture of us doing it.”
“No.”
“Sign language.”
Giving up, she sighed through her smile as he picked up her bag and opened the front door.
“No answer means yes. I made this!” he said, pointing to the door. “It used to be just a stack of tires on account of Poop Chute Clinton saying I couldn’t fix up the trailer, but now I have a door. I made it fancy for you,” he murmured, standing back to look at his handiwork. “I’ll paint it red because you said you like red doors. No animals will get in.” His lips pursed into a thin line. “I will miss kicking the tires down, though.”
Bash jogged down the stairs and held his arms out, waiting for her to koala bear him again. As she climbed on his back, he said, “I’m going to make you a walking path. You have to almost drown sod for it to take here, so it’ll be wet and squishy for a while, and your shoes will get messed up.”
She nibbled his earlobe. “They’re just flip flops.”
Bash straightened out her leg. “But your toenails are painted all pretty.”
She wiggled her toes so the glossy fire-engine-red polish shone in the sunlight. “You like them?”
“Hell yeah. They make me imagine us watching TV on my couch late at night with your feet resting in my lap, and then we fuck.”
She cracked up and hugged his neck tighter as he walked easily across the yard, ducking the sprinkler water. “Are all of your imaginings going to end with us fooling around?”
“Yes. I almost forgot to tell you. There is a mouse in ten-ten.” Bash settled her on her feet on the white gravel road. “You aren’t afraid of them, are you? I mean you said you were scared of animals bigger than Chihuahuas, and Nards is definitely smaller, so you’re good, right?”
A mouse? “I’m a little scared of them.” Try, a lot scared of them.
“Audrey says he’s real polite, and he never gets up on the counters or the furniture so long as she puts food somewhere on the floor for him. He likes grapes best. The green kind, not the purple. He’s tame as a pet store mouse.”
“And his name is Nards?” That sounded less scary than Rabid Monster Field Mouse, which is what she would’ve named it.
Bash pulled the strap of her duffle bag across his chest and draped an arm around her shoulders. “I promise you’ll be okay. All the girls in the Ashe Crew and Gray Back Crew have lived in ten-ten, and no one had a single horror story about Nards. He’s a lucky mouse.”
“Maybe if I see him and it’s not a surprise encounter, I’ll feel better,” she said doubtfully.
Bash kissed the side of her head and sounded proud when he declared, “Brave mate.”
“Mate?” The butterflies in her stomach had turned to falcons.
“Yes. But slow, I forgot. Girl…friend. That doesn’t sound like enough.”
“No, no, you can call me ‘mate.’ Is that the terminology for shifters when you pair up?”
“Yes. I was always scared my bear wouldn’t pick. I mean, I knew he was ready because I’ve been fighting these instincts to go meet women, but it’s the animal’s choice first.”
“And your bear picked me?”
“We both did. You are the easiest choice I ever made. Harrison said it would be like that, but you just don’t know for sure until it happens to you. I felt sick at the Meet-A-Mate Bash. All I wanted to do was be with you, and when we had our fight, I just wanted to go home. I watched you leave, and you were crying. It felt like my guts were getting cut out of my body and then set on fire and then peed on and then put back in my body. And then it felt like someone ran over me with a tractor.”
“I’m really glad that didn’t actually happen to you,” Emerson said, feeling a little queasy at the mental image.
“My chest used to be all tight,” he said, turning to walk backward in front of her. “Now it don’t hurt at all.”
“Because of me?” she asked, touched at how honest and sweet he always was to her.
“Yeah.” He inhaled deeply. “You make me breathe easy.”
“Will I ever get to see your bear?” she asked. “Or is that against the shifter laws?”
“Do you want to see him?” Bash asked, his face going solemn as he stepped into line beside her again.
“Yeah.”
“You’ll be scared. He’s…different than me.”
“Is he mean?”
“No, just dominant, and he don’t mind fighting. You’ll make him more protective.”
“Will he hurt me?”