Page 18 of Claimed By the Grumpy Shifter

"You really believe that?" I ask.

"I believe that a man who's truly dangerous doesn't worry about whether he's dangerous. He doesn't seek out isolation to protect others. He doesn't move to a quiet town and try to build a peaceful life." She smiles, and it's like sunrise. "I believe that you're exactly the kind of man who deserves white picket fences and Sunday morning pancakes."

"Christine..." I start, but she's not finished.

"I also believe that you're not going to let me pay for my own dinner, are you?"

The subject change is so abrupt that it takes me a moment to process it. When I do, I can't help but laugh—actually laugh, maybe for the first time in years.

"Absolutely not."

"I figured. You have that protective, old-fashioned streak a mile wide." She grins at me, and I realize she's been deliberately lightening the mood, giving me space to recover from the emotional intensity of the conversation. "It's actually kind of sweet."

"Sweet?" I raise an eyebrow. "That's not a word most people would use to describe me."

"Most people don't know you like I do."

"You've known me for two days."

"Sometimes that's all it takes." She takes a bite of her salmon, chewing it. "Besides, I'm a good judge of character. It's why I'm so good at my job. I can tell what people need, what will make them happy."

"And what do you think I need?"

The question slips out before I can stop it, more vulnerable than I intended. But I genuinely want to know. This woman who sees past my walls, who looks at me like I'm something worth saving—what does she think I need?

"Someone who believes in you," she says without hesitation. "Someone who sees past the scars to the man underneath. Someone who isn't afraid of a little darkness because they know there's light there too."

"And you think you're that someone?"

"I think I'd like to try."

She's not promising forever, not making grand declarations of love. She's just saying she wants to try, wants to see what we could build together despite the odds stacked against us.

It's more than I dared hope for. More than I deserve.

But maybe that's the point. Maybe deserving has nothing to do with it. Maybe sometimes the universe just gives you exactly what you need, whether you're ready for it or not.

"Okay," I say, and the word feels like a leap off a cliff.

"Okay?"

"Okay, let's try."

"Good. Because I was going to keep trying whether you agreed or not."

"Is that so?"

"I told you. I like a challenge." She winks at me, and the playful gesture is so at odds with the serious conversation we just had that it makes me dizzy. "Besides, someone has to show you how to have fun again."

"I have fun."

"Reading poetry and brooding in your house doesn't count."

"I don't brood."

"You absolutely brood. You have 'tortured hero' written all over your face."

"Tortured hero?" I can't help but smile at that. "You read too many romance novels."

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