Page 27 of Torin

He turns back to the stove before I can ask what the hell that means.

A minute later, he puts a plate of eggs, bacon and toast in front of me, then grabs his own.

“Go ahead. Eat.”

We sit across from each other at the little kitchen table.

I take a bite. God. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was.

“This is really good,” I say after I’ve swallowed. “You cook a lot?”

“Every day.”

“Really?”

“Nobody else is going to do it right now.”

Something about the answer makes me glance up. “You don’t live alone?”

“No. My younger brother’s with me at the moment.”

Oh.

I’m ridiculously pleased to hear that.

“He doesn’t cook?”

Torin laughs. “Orson? Only if dragging something dead home counts.”

My fork stops halfway to my mouth.

Torin notices. “Too much?”

“No, it’s okay. I’m still getting used to…” I wave my fork vaguely at him. “All of this.”

“Bears?”

“People being bears.” I take another bite, but when I look up, he’s watching me more carefully now.

“You haven’t been around shifters long.”

It’s a statement rather than a question.

“No.”

His brow furrows. “But East Ridge⁠—”

My stomach tightens. “I don’t really know them,” I say at last.

Torin nods and takes another bite of his breakfast.

I wait for the obvious questions. Why was I at East Ridge, then? Whose mating dress was I wearing? Why was I running away in the middle of the night?

He doesn’t ask any of them.

I pick at the edge of my toast.

“My father arranged it,” I say.