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The red in his cheeks explodes deeper as he reels back, holding his bowl of spaghetti against his chest for what I can only assume is protection. “W-w— I—” He chokes on his words, flicking his gaze between the card and my face.
“It’s important, Ollie.”
“B-but…”
“I’m part fae. I’m your mate. Right now, I’m assuming that means I’m going to live longer than a normal human and I’m the only mate you get, but even that much is speculation, isn’t it?”
His throat bobs. “You…are the only mate I get.”
I tilt my head, brows knitting. “And you’re the only one I get, too, aren’t you?”
The action stilted, he nods.
“So…if this is it…if we are the only chance each of us gets…can’t we try to make sense of our worries, plan a future, and see if we like the picture we create?”
He closes his eyes. “Okay.” He manages a fortifying breath. “I want three.”
“Only three?”
“Isn’t…five kids…a lot?”
“I thought you’d say it was too few, Mr. From a Litter of Seven.”
He coughs. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding. I’m not from an actual litter. I’m the youngest and smallest of seven. The only one, of all seven, to take after our mother instead of our mountain of a father. Often groups of werecanine kids are called a litter, but we weren’t all born at once.”
I flip the card with I want five kids scrawled in red my direction then hum. “That’s kind of a relief, in some ways. I have no idea what parts of me are werecanine, and I was some worried I’d be the next Octomom. I put down five assuming you’d want more. It was my compromise before I even knew I needed one. So, see? We’re both a little bit too insecure for our own good. Three is a wonderful number. Better still if they don’t all come at once.”
Ollie’s fork clinks against his bowl, and he covers his face with his hand. “My sunshine…I think I need to be sedated for this.”
I get a blue marker and put a slash three beside the five on the card. “You can do it. I believe in you.”
“Your empty words of encouragement leave me no more at ease.”
“Where do you see us living? I like this house, but I’m not opposed to a cave in the woods.” Plowing on, I get another card, the package of pipe cleaners, and a pair of scissors. “Maybe a cozy cabin? Where did you live before here?”
I’m nearly done assembling a pipe cleaner house by the time I realize he hasn’t replied. I look at him. “Ollie? Where did you live before here?”
His lips part. “With…friends.”
“Is the economy bad in Faerie, too?”
“…no.”
“I’m sure you had your reasons. It’s okay. Do you have any preferences about where we live?”
“Anywhere with you is good.”
My skin warms. “Flirt.”
His expression crumples. “Brittny, I’m really not sure about this. I don’t know if I’m ready to—”
I hand him a card. “Write whatever’s scaring you down on this, and we can connect it to the therapy I’ll add to our future.”
Torment ripples in his eyes as his mouth hangs open in indefinite suspension. All the same, his fingers close around the card.
I stuff a bite of pasta in my mouth and begin assembling a flowery Therapy card. Logically, it should come first—before weddings and kids and houses if we decide to move—so I begin sorting the cards like stepping stones toward a brighter tomorrow.
Ollie remains silent, holding his card, watching me put together short lists of invitations to our wedding, ideas for the gown, reception themes. Wrinkles form on the paper between his fingers as I scrawl details into every margin, outlining my dream life in chaos across the floor.
