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“Why?”

I shrug. “Never wanted to enough. I’ve dated. Kissed a few men. Done other things. It just never got to the point where being that vulnerable with someone felt worth it.” I look at him. “Until you.”

His eyes turn amber-bright before his gaze drops to my mouth. “Christ, Nora, I can smell you.”

Heat floods me so quickly that I’m grateful for the dusk. “Oh.”

My knee is still against his. His arm rests beside mine on the porch step, close enough that the backs of our hands almost touch.

The air feels charged.

I slide my smallest finger across the wood until it brushes his, and Hewit inhales sharply. I do it again, and this time, his hand turns, his fingers closing gently around mine. For someone who kissed me like he wanted to consume me, this somehow feels more intimate.

“So,” I say softly, “the wolf doesn’t want to run away from me. Quite the opposite, apparently.”

His thumb moves over my knuckles. “The wolf is the reason I should stay away from you.”

I turn my hand inside his until our palms meet. “I’m not afraid of him. I liked seeing you like that.”

“You shouldn’t.”

I squeeze his hand before he can pull away. “No, Hewit. You don’t get to decide which parts of you I’m allowed to like.”

His face hardens, but I keep going.

“You’re allowed to hate what happened to you, to wish it had never happened. But you don’t get to tell me I have to hate the wolf because you do.”

For a moment, he doesn’t move. Then his fingers loosen from mine. I let him go. I don’t want to, but he needs to be able to choose whether he reaches back.

“I don’t hate him.” Hewit looks toward the darkening trees. “I did. For a long time.”

“What changed?”

His mouth twists. “Too many years of being alone.”

I don’t ask for more. Not tonight. Instead, I pick up the pasta and hand it back to him. “Finish your dinner.”

His eyebrows lift. “You’re done interrogating me?”

I stand and brush grass off the back of my jeans. “For now.”

I’ve almost reached my porch when I hear him behind me.

“Nora.”

I turn.

Hewit is standing now, the empty container hanging from one hand. For several seconds, he says nothing.

Then he crosses the grass.

My pulse climbs before he reaches me. He stops directly in front of me, close enough that I have to tip my head back. His hand settles against the side of my neck, his thumb resting beneath my jaw. “The wolf isn’t the only one who wants you.”

Then he kisses me.

Chapter 11

Hewit