Cans clinked as they fell into the cart. “Yeah. I could never have friends over because of my dad. And when I tested into a preparatory high school, I was the stinky, dirty, poor kid. None of the parents wanted me in their kids’ lives. I had one or two school friends, but it’s hard to have a lasting thing if you don’t see each other after school.”
“And when you were older you had that guy John?”
A dreamy, lovesick look crossed her face. She smiled in a serene sort of way.
A way, Devon realized, no woman had ever smiled for him.
Confusion stole over him, followed by a weird clenching in his gut. He waited for the anger to rush in, covering the softness that was growing in his middle. Strangely, nothing came.
“He was my light in the darkness, yes,” she said, the memory softening her face into something absolutely exquisite. Her ethereal quality was practically a beacon. He couldn’t understand why people didn’t stop and stare at her in rapture.
Then again, now that he was noticing, everyone they passed smiled at her. They might not be magical, but they were affected all the same. He wondered if that was an element of being a fae, or if it was just her.
“We spent every moment we could together from sixteen to nineteen,” she answered. “He was a year younger, even though we were in the same grade, so fifteen to eighteen for him. We were together most of high school.”
“When did you lose your virginity?”
“Not real nosey, are you?” Charity muttered. “We’d been together a year. I was seventeen.”
“And he’s been your only one?”
“Yes, and now we can change the subject.”
Devon smirked. “Aren’t you going to ask me when I lost my virginity?”
“Nope.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t care.”
He flicked her ponytail again. “I thought women were supposed to be curious?”
“This one minds her own business because she doesn’t want a certain beautiful blonde to set her bed on fire while she’s sleeping in it.”
Devon laughed, picking brownie mix off the shelf and tossing it into the cart. Charity halted with a frown. She took the box out of the cart and handed it back.
“I like brownies,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back so she couldn’t take the mix.
She slapped it to his chest. “Yes, I know, but I don’t make them from the box. I have the ingredients for brownies on the list.”
“You do? Homemade?”
“No, elf-made…”
“I doubt elves eat brownies. But from scratch, I mean?”
“Oh yeah.” She scratched her chin as a troubled expression crossed her face. “I forgot elves were real.” She applied pressure to the box against his chest. “Yes, from scratch.”
He took the box. “How’d you know I like brownies? Are you secretly pining after me? You are, aren’t you? You’re stalking me.”
Charity huffed, but a smile tweaked her lips. “You eat them constantly—how could I not know? It’s the only snack you have in the cupboards. I find crumbs all over the kitchen. Which is annoying, by the way. You’re lucky it’s your house, or I’d be all over you to clean up after yourself.”
He huffed out a laugh, and warmth glowed in his chest. It was such a small thing, someone noticing his snacks, but he hadn’t been looked after in a long time. His mother had lost interest in him as he approached puberty—most likely because she’d suspected what would happen—and his dad had worked all the time. His friends had been tough guys, and the girls in his life had been shallow conquests. No one had really valued him as anything other than a functioning pack mate or a good time. No one had been around to notice what made him tick. It was kind of nice.
A memory wiped the smile off his face.
When she’d curled up into his arms last night, afraid and looking for safety, a deep throb had pulsed through his body. He’d felt powerful in the role of protector, something the alpha in him craved. It was what had made his thoughts stray all day. It was why he might’ve been avoiding her, just a little.
This morning’s unspoken challenge hadn’t helped. In her fiery gaze, he’d seen the girl who had taken on an elder and lived to tell the tale. Her magic had pulsed within her, filling the room, singeing his skin. He’d longed to run at it. To take her hand and sprint into battle. This was what Roger had been talking about, Devon knew. Their magic belonged together. He felt it.
He liked it.
He didn’t need the distraction of any of this.
“Uh-oh,” she said, as though talking to herself. She dropped pasta into the cart, crossed it off her list, and wandered on. “Back to grumpy and brooding, I see. Well…” She sighed and stopped in front of the canned tomatoes. “The fun and easygoing Devon was nice while it lasted.” She chewed on her plump lip. “I’m sorry about last night too, by the way.”