Page 71 of Cat’s Guide To Romance

I laugh as Lucien bends to take off his boots, setting them neatly beside my shoes. Something about the motion makes warmth settle into my chest. He doesn’t ask if he can stay, and I don’t ask if he’s staying. He just takes off his shoes like, of course, he’s going to be here for a while. I like that.

My apartment has changed so much in only a few weeks. There are pictures on the walls now and blankets piled everywhere. The kitchen has actual dishes instead of the pack of paper plates I bought when I moved in. My bedroom is lilac, and there’s a glittery accent wall I adore.

This place feels like mine.

Lucien wanders toward the kitchen while I drop onto the couch.

“Do you want anything? Water? Wine?” He opens one of the cabinets and peers inside before glancing over his shoulder. “I could teleport somewhere and get another dessert.”

I stare at him until he notices.

“What?” He closes the cabinet and turns toward me. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You’re doing it, now.”

“Doing what?”

I point at him. “Taking care of everything.”

Lucien’s mouth opens, then closes. His tail gives an irritated little flick before he crosses his arms.

Laughing, I grab one of the decorative pillows and throw it at him. Lucien catches it with his tail before it reaches his face, looking far too pleased with himself as he returns it neatly to the couch.

Lucien finally gives up on finding something to do and drops onto the couch beside me, though he has to move five pillows first. He makes a point of stacking them dramatically on the armchair before stretching one arm across the back of the couch.

For a while, neither of us says anything. Silence used to mean I should be doing something. If the house was quiet, there was laundry. If the kittens were occupied, Mama probably needed help. If Mama didn’t need anything, I could pick up an extra shift or run errands. Now I can sit on my couch beside my boyfriend. Boyfriend. I haven’t called him that out loud yet.

My tail flicks against Lucien’s thigh, and he catches the end gently, running the fur between his fingers. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing.”

I turn my head toward him. His purple skin looks darker in the soft light coming from the lamp beside the couch, and his horns casts shadows across the wall. He changed his shirt seven times before dinner tonight. He thinks I didn’t notice, but he sent me pictures of six of them while asking completely unrelated questions.

“You were really nervous tonight.”

“Higher demons don’t get nervous.” He straightens his shoulders and lifts his chin, which would be more convincing if I hadn’t watched him panic over dessert mere hours ago.

“You called me before dinner and asked if pie was an acceptable offering to my mother.”

“That was strategic planning.”

“You bought backup pastries.”

Lucien narrows his eyes. “Who told you?”

“Lars.”

“Traitor.” Lucien’s arm comes around me immediately, pulling me closer into his side. His tail winds loosely around my ankle while mine stretches across his lap.

His fingers move through my hair, scratching lightly between my ears. A purr starts before I can stop it, and I close my eyes as my body sinks farther against him.

“She invited me back,” Lucien says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “I wanted your family to like me.”

“They do.”

“Your father doesn’t.”

“Papa barely likes himself.” And that’s not my problem.