Thunder Moon (Nightcreature 8)

Which wasn’t like me. Of course I had been distracted lately—hot doctor, messenger wolf, ravens, crows, eagles, dead people.

“I forgot,” I said. “There was—” I stopped. I couldn’t tell him even if I knew.

“It’s all right.” He got to his feet, hovering by the table as if uncertain.

“It isn’t. I didn’t think. I’m not good at—” I waved a hand.

“Talking?”

“No, that I’m good at. I suck at dating.”

“Then we’re two of a kind. I haven’t dated since...” His voice trailed off, and he glanced down, his braid and the feather swinging across his face.

I’d reminded him again of his dead wife. Maybe I wasn’t as good at talking as I’d thought.

“I wrecked everything. I’m—”

His head came up. “Don’t say you’re sorry. I’m glad you forgot.”

My eyebrows lifted. “Glad?”

“Grace, I’m a doctor. I’m going to forget a lot of things. Dates. Birthdays. There’ll be times I’m so wrapped up in something, I might forget your name.” My eyebrows lowered, and he laughed. “Kidding.”

“You aren’t mad?”

“Of course not.” He brushed his hair out of his face. “There was something we didn’t discuss the other night.”

Discussion hadn’t been on my list of options, but I had a pretty good idea of where this was headed. “Protection,” I said. We hadn’t used any.

“Yes. I... well—I didn’t think.”

That made two of us.

“I’m on the pill.” Had been for years. I wanted children, but a surprise pregnancy was not the way I planned to get them. “And I’ve never had unprotected sex.”

“Never?”

“Until you.”

That admission felt like more than it was. It felt like some kind of promise.

“I haven’t either.”

Was he serious? From his expression, very. I wasn’t sure if I should believe him, but what reason would he have to lie? Besides, that milk had already been spilled, so to speak. No sense crying over it now.

I smiled and his shoulders relaxed. He was as glad to have that conversation out of the way as I was.

“What was so engaging that you didn’t get home until nearly nightfall?” he asked.

“The usual.”

“Which is?”

He seemed awfully interested, but maybe it was just the natural curiosity of a non-cop for a cop’s life. I’d fielded such questions a hundred times before, but I really didn’t want to now.

“Cats up trees, dogs in the garbage. Such is the life of a small-town cop.” Most of the time—just not lately.

“Hear anything from Quatie?”