Page 74 of Fool Moon First Aid

“Not yet, I’m not,” I remind him firmly.

“You are our mate,” Tyler insists, his gaze intense as he looks at me, assessing my reaction. “We just aren’t bonded.”

“What’s my favorite color?” I challenge as he pulls up outside my modest apartment. It’s a simple first-floor townhouse downtown, conveniently close to my clinic, given my lack of a car or driver’s license.

“Pink,” he replies without missing a beat.

My neck nearly snaps as I turn to him, my mouth agape in astonishment. He parks the car and turns to me with a smug smile playing on his lips.

“H-How?” I stutter.

“I pay attention, Ava,” he says softly. “Sometimes, everyone thinks I’m just a goofball, a whimsical playboy, but I pay attention.” There’s a vulnerability in his words that tugs at my heartstrings. “Go ahead, ask me another question about you.”

“What’s my favorite food?” I challenge.

“If I were a betting man, I’d say tacos or empanadas,” he wagers, wagging a finger knowingly. “Your mom’s recipe.”

My jaw practically hits the floor.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” he asks, his smirk oozing with confidence.

“Am I a cat or a dog person?” I retort.

He gives me a look of pure cynicism. “Dog.”

“How the hell?” I shake my head in disbelief, torn between continuing the interrogation and heading inside.

“Let’s get you in,” he suggests, reading my mind. “You can keep asking questions on the way.”

“Oh, I plan to,” I reply, opening the car door and wobbling as I find my footing. At least there are no steps to contend with.

Tyler rushes around to my side, opening the door and offering me a steadying hand. I’m grateful he doesn’t go all caveman and sling me over his shoulder. We’re taking baby steps.

His palm is warm and calloused as he grips my hand, leading me to my door. Somehow, he even has my key.

I don’t even remember where I left it. Shame burns my cheeks, knowing he’s been learning all about me through observation and I didn’t pay enough attention to him.

He unlocks the outside door and guides me into the stairwell. The landlord converted this row of townhouses into little apartments with her husband years ago. Now it’s just her, and she’s the sweetest little woman.

As we step inside, a staircase leads upstairs, or we can go left, where my apartment is. Tyler unlocks that door, and a breath I didn’t realize I was holding explodes out of me. I half expected someone to break into my apartment.

Like my dad.

“What’s my favorite ice cream?” I ask.

Tyler chuckles as he steps into the apartment first, his eyes scanning everything. “You’ll have to ask Ethan that question,” he teases.

“Why?” I hobble into my apartment and slam the door shut with my crutch.

Tyler places his hands in his pockets, taking in my home.

I wonder what he thinks of it. It’s small, nothing much. I look around, trying to see what he sees. The apartment is long and narrow. On my left is a bay window that overlooks the street outside. I have about a dozen plants scattered in the windowsill, and in front of it are two reading chairs—some of the only furniture aside from the table and my grandfather’s desk.

He used to build these desks. He was an incredible carpenter and loved crafting hidden drawers. I even found a hidden compartment in my desk only last month.

To the right is a kitchenette tucked in a corner, and directly in front of it, against the far wall, is a small table and chairs. A hallway leads into my bedroom, the door shut.

Tyler tosses my keys on the foyer table to the right of the front door, his eyes still roaming. “I like it.” He smiles at me. “It feels like you.” He holds my gaze as he tries to convey something I’m just not grasping in that moment. It’s intense and causes heat to unfurl in my belly.

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