“Great!” The relief in her voice was palpable. That probably wasn’t a good sign if I were looking for a laid-back, slow-paced work environment. But I work in crime scene investigation, so that’s not really on my list of job qualifications. I couldn’t help the smile that curved my lips upward—not that it mattered to Lacy Krinke, since she couldn’t see me. “Does nine a.m. work for you?”
“It does.” I didn’t tell her that I had literally nothing else going on in my life.
“Then I will see you then. Have a good day, Mr. Mays!”
“You, too,” I told her, and then the phone beeped, telling me she’d hung up.
I stared at the phone in my hand for a good thirty or forty seconds. It was hard to believe, after everything, that something,anythingwas going my way.
But it was—for now, anyway. With my luck, I wasn’t going to hold my breath that the rest of this was going to go the way I wanted it to.
“Seth?”
Elliot had just come in the door. I was in ‘my’ room—I didn’t really feel comfortable moving around the house when Elliot wasn’t here, unless I had a reason to, like making dinner or something. I’d been pacing—the phone call had left me with a lot of nervous energy, and I wasn’t doing a very good job of keeping it under control. My skin itched, and while I didn’t feel like I was going to lose control, I felt, for the first time, like Iwantedto shift.
I’d called Noah to update him on my phone interview, and had then sent texts to both Quincy and Hart. Quincy had sent back a long string of hearts. Hart had reminded me that he would provide me with a gushing reference if I wanted it. I’d assured him that his name was already on the application.
“I’m here,” I called back. I got up and padded out of the room, finding Elliot standing in the hall, three tote bags of groceries on his shoulders, his shoes having been toed off by the door.
His expression was… well, I wasn’t sure what expression he was wearing. Curious, maybe?
Right. Because I’d had a phone interview.
“I have an in-person on Thursday,” I told him.
He grinned at me. “That’s great!”
I nodded.
That lopsided smile dimmed. “But?”
I shrugged. “Nervous, I guess,” I replied. “I…” I swallowed, suddenly feeling oddly shy. “I really want this,” I admitted. I meant the job—but I also meant more than that. Not that I would admit it to Elliot, even though the other half—okay, more than half—of what I wanted was him.
Elliot’s smile turned understanding. “I get that,” he said. “I’d… suggest shifting to work out some of the nervous energy, but?—”
“Actually,” I jumped on the offer. “I’d like that.” I was even more jittery now. It might not help, but I felt like it couldn’t make it any worse.
Elliot frowned. “I—I don’t like that it causes you that much pain,” he said.
I sighed. I wasn’t particularly a fan of the pain, either, but I was used to it—well, I was used to pain. Maybe not precisely what I felt after shifting, but I’d get used to it. I’d have to. “I don’t like it, either,” I told him. “But it doesn’t hurt tobea wolf.” At least not any more than I already hurt on an average day. “Just to shift.”
Elliot huffed out a sigh and walked toward the kitchen with his bags. I followed him. “I still think you should tell a doctor,” he told me.
“I told them at St. Cyprian’s. Nobody seemed to think much of it.”
“I don’t think much of them,” Elliot retorted, heaving the bags up onto the island counter.
I pressed my lips together. I didn’t want to argue with Elliot—he was being generous with his time, his money, his house… I didn’t want him to regret that.
He sighed again. “Sorry,” he grumbled. “I just—shifting shouldn’t be painful. Not like it is for you.”
I shrugged, then started helping to unpack the bags. “A lot of things are more painful for me,” I replied.
“Because of the Lyme.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yeah,” I said anyway, putting away a carton of almond milk.
“And you still want to shift?” he asked. “Not that I think that’s a bad idea, necessarily, but what made you change your mind?”
