Page 86 of Never Invite a Vampire to Dinner

He comes without a moment’s hesitation, which is the part that gets me. I wrap both arms around as much of him as I can, which is not all of him because he is absurdly large, and press my face into his sweater. For one moment he stays perfectly still. Then his arms come around me, and something in him gives. Not breaks. Just gives.

He bends over me, his face against my hair, and I feel him take a breath he does not need. It shakes.

“You keep making room,” he says.

His voice is rough enough that I close my eyes.

“What?”

“At the table. At your house. At the end of your prep counter.” His arms tighten. “Every time I think I have reached the edge of what you’re offering, you provide more space.”

My eyes sting.

“Well. You take up a lot of room.”

A sound goes through him that is almost a laugh. I hold on tighter.

“I don’t want pieces anymore,” I say into his chest. “That’s what I came here to tell you.”

“I know.”

“I don’t mean I need every terrible thing that ever happened to you by Tuesday. I don’t need four hundred years of weather reports.”

“That’s fortunate.”

“I mean I don’t want you waiting for me to accidentally stumble onto the correct question.”

His hand moves once over my back.

“All right.”

I pull back enough to look at him.

“All right?”

“Yes.”

“You’re just agreeing?”

“You have spent the evening objecting to the precision of my answers. I am attempting to improve.”

“Good.”

“Is it working?”

“Marginally.”

His eyes are warm now. Not red. Not supernatural. Just warm.

“I don’t know how to do this, Penny.”

And this time it’s not an answer to a question, but something he volunteered. I reach up and touch his face. “That’s okay.”

“It may be extremely tedious.”

“I read thirty pages about salt.”

“Twenty-eight.”