Page 7 of Love, Clumsily
“Hi,” I said, stepping back to let him in.
“Hi,” he replied, his voice rougher than usual. He hesitated before entering, as if crossing my threshold required special permission.
Once inside, he stood awkwardly in the middle of my living room, looking too big for the space, like a great dane who thought it was a lap dog.
“Do you want coffee? Or water?” I offered.
“No, I’m—water would be good, actually,” he said, changing his mind mid-sentence.
I fetched us both glasses of water, using the moment in the kitchen to gather my thoughts. When I returned, he was still standing in the same spot, looking like he was facing a firing squad.
“You can sit down, you know,” I said, gesturing to the couch. “I promise it won’t bite.”
A strangled sound escaped him—not quite a laugh. “Right. Sorry.” He lowered himself onto my couch, which creaked ominously under his weight.
I sat in the armchair opposite him, setting our water on the coffee table between us. For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
“So,” I finally said, deciding to rip off the Band-Aid, “are we going to talk about how you’re a werewolf, or is this about something else?”
The glass of water Mason had just picked up slipped from his fingers, splashing across my coffee table and floor. He didn’t seem to notice, his wide eyes fixed on my face.
“What did you just—how did you—” He stopped, swallowed. “What?”
“You’re a werewolf,” I said, surprised by how calm I sounded. “That’s your big secret, right? The thing you’ve been afraid to tell me?”
He stared at me, mouth opening and closing without sound, looking remarkably like a very muscular fish out of water.
“I saw you last night,” I continued. “In my yard. At least, I’m pretty sure it was you. The eyes were the same.”
“You… you’re not…” He shook his head, as if trying to clear it. “You’re talking about this like it’s… normal.”
“Oh, I’m freaking out internally,” I assured him. “But externally, I’m trying to be cool about it because you look like you might bolt through my wall like the Kool-Aid Man if I start screaming.”
A surprised laugh burst from him, breaking some of the tension. He bent forward, elbows on his knees, and ran his hands through his hair.
“This is not how I planned this conversation,” he muttered.
“How did you plan it?”
He looked up at me. “Carefully. With diagrams, maybe. And a prepared speech about how I’d understand if you never wanted to see me again.”
“Well, we can still do that if you want,” I offered. “I can pretend to be shocked and horrified, you can do your speech, we’ll both feel awkward…”
Another laugh, more genuine this time. “You’re taking this suspiciously well.”
I shrugged. “I’ve had a night to process. And honestly, it explains a lot. The super senses, the strength, the whole ‘afraid of losing control’ thing…”
“I was afraid of hurting you,” he said softly. “I still am.”
“You won’t,” I said with more confidence than I felt.
“You don’t know that,” he insisted. “When we’re… intimate… it’s harder to keep the wolf in check. And if I shifted while we were… if I lost control…”
“Then we work on your control,” I said simply. “Or you tie me up instead of the other way around.”
His eyes darkened at that, pupils dilating visibly. “That’s not funny, Julian.”
“It wasn’t entirely a joke,” I admitted. “Look, I’m not saying this isn’t a lot to process. It is. But I was already falling for you before I knew you occasionally grew fur and a tail. Finding out you’re a werewolf doesn’t change how I feel.”
