Page 98 of Little Red Riding Hood
“I suppose the Shadow helped my mother when the Queen sent him to steal me. Perhaps when he comes next, he can somehow be persuaded to form some trickery against her.” Red’s expression changed, eyebrows knitting together. “And… we will live in your cottage?”
Wim nodded through a pang of homesickness quickly replaced by images of Red kneeling by the fire, warming his hands while Wim cooked him the most delicious of meals.
Red’s eyes widened. “Tell me about it.”
“Built it myself, from the ground up. Three good-sized rooms, and a proper thatched roof that keeps the cold out. There’s a large hearth in the main room—perfect for when you want to sprawl out on the rug with one of them adventure books you love so much. We could read them together.”
Red hiccuped a laugh.
“And there’s an enormous bed, all soft with feather pillows. Where I’ll take my time making love to you before holding you all night, safe in my arms.”
“Stop!” Tears were pouring down Red’s cheeks, and his shoulders shook. The sight tore at Wim’s heart—what did he say so wrong?
“I can’t—” Red pressed his hand to his mouth. “You can’t possibly want all that withme!”
“Course I do,” Wim protested. “Come home with me, Red. I’ll cook for you every day. You can spend your days keeping an eye on Toby, and your nights in my bed.” Wim swiped at the torrent of tears flooding Red’s face, as if he could permanently erase his sadness. “You’ll never be alone again.” He pressed their lips together, licking the salt from Red’s lips. “I’ll take such good care of you. Let me love you, Red.”
But Wim muststillbe saying the wrong thing, because Red’s tears weren’t stopping. If anything, they were increasing by the second.
“Why are you still crying?” The words came out as almost a whine.
Red pulled back and scrubbed at his face with his sleeve. “It’s just… I’ve spent twenty-four winters living in a dingy attic, with only spiders for friends, walking around the palace with my eyes on my feet in case I crossed paths with the Queen…” Red gave a watery laugh. “And now you’re offering me a real home? With pillows and fires and—and—” He gestured wildly at Wim. “Everything I’ve ever dreamed about?”
Wim’s chest constricted. He reached for Red, but he scrambled to his feet, pacing beside the shimmering pool.
“And you want to cook for me? And read adventure stories together?” Red asked, in almost a high-pitched squeak. He stopped abruptly, running both hands through his hair. “God, I sound mad.”
“Not at all, sweetheart.”
“I do! Because normal people don’t get this excited about… about…” Red waved his arms again. “About cottages and cooking and—and someone actually wanting them!”
The raw vulnerability in Red’s tone made Wim’s wolf whine. He stood, catching Red’s flailing hands in his own.
“Then we’re both mad.” Wim pressed a kiss to Red’s knuckles. “Because I get excited thinking about cooking for you every day. About showing you our home. About watching you curl up by our fire.”
Red’s lower lip trembled. “Our home,” he whispered, like he was testing how the words felt on his tongue.
Dropping to the mossy ground, Wim rummaged through his pack to find where he’d stowed away his necklace of milk teeth. He still remembered that day he’d threaded them onto the cord, one by one, imagining who he’d give it to.
Never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined it would be a loud, opinionated pipsqueak who was infatuated with a red riding hood, but there they were.
He wouldn’t have it any other way.
Wim rose, pressing the cord of milk teeth into Red’s palm. “May I?”
Red nodded, the bright glow of the fungi illuminating the smile on his face.
Wim’s fingers found the clasp of Red’s cloak first, releasing it with reverent care. The crimson fabric pooled at Red’s feet like spilled wine. Next came the leather vest, its laces yielding one by one to Wim’s patient touch.
The grotto was as warm as a summer’s day, thanks to the hot spring, yet Red shook head to toe like a leaf under his touch.
“You’re shaking,” Wim murmured, brushing his lips against Red’s collarbone.
“So are you.” Red’s voice wavered as Wim slipped the vest from his shoulders.
The cotton shirt beneath felt impossibly soft against Wim’s calloused hands. Red lifted his arms, allowing Wim to pull the garment over his head.
He savoured each newly revealed inch of pale skin, mapping the smattering of freckles across Red’s shoulders and down his arms. The blue-green light painted shadows across the planes of his chest. Alongside his wildly messy curls, he looked every bit a magical pixie. Beautiful.Perfect.
