Page 16 of Moonlight and Mischief
“Did you tell anyone about our… situation?” My voice drops off.
He shakes his head, causing his pale hair to flop over his forehead. “I didn’t think you’d want people knowing. I can see how it would look weird.” With a sigh, he rakes his fingers through his hair and sweeps it away from his face.
“I’ve got a lot to thank you for,” I mutter between mouthfuls of potato.
“How about you start by taking it easier on yourself?” He bumps his shoulder against mine. The familiarity is comforting, but I have no idea what to say to him.
We sit quietly, his knife scraping and cutting away slivers of wood, and my fork steadily clearing my plate. I finish the last bite and take my dish to the sink. On the way back, I snag a pair of beer bottles from the fridge.
A lone overhead light illuminates the porch, casting long shadows down the steps. Jasper’s night vision is superior as a wolf shifter, and he’s able to continue his whittling when a human would have had to stop.
I hand him a beer. “So what are you making there?”
Jasper holds up the rough shape, rotating it for me to admire. “You can’t tell?”
“It’s a bobcat.” I guess the first thing that pops into my head.
He scowls. “Really?”
“Oh, an owl?”
“Not even close.”
“A hedgehog?”
“Stop, they’re getting worse,” he says, laughter breaking through his serious demeanor. “It’s gonna be a fox.”
“Oh, it looks exactly like a fox. Really great job.” My hand clamps over my mouth, stopping my giggles.
“You said I was like a fox, so I figured you might like a little fox,” he says absently, digging the tip of his blade under the bulbous top, now carving out what might be the muzzle, though it’s hard to be sure.
“This is cool, actually,” I say, trying to encourage him, though it looks like a blob to me.
His exhale is audible like an amused huff. “Well, Marigold, I’ve seen you do all sorts of crafty things with your students, but what activities do you like to do just for you?”
“I can’t remember the last time I had spare time to do anything creative,” I say, giving in to the urge torest my head against his shoulder. He’s warm and steady, warding off the night’s chill.
“Well, what would you do if you had time?” he presses.
“Nap.” The glass bottle slowly twirls as I twist my fingers.
Jasper holds the wooden figure up, turning it side to side and measuring with his thumb. Satisfied, he returns to deepening grooves that might be the sides of the legs. It’s looking foxlike already.
“Other than naps. I know you’re hiding more talents from me,” he says, his smirk sending my heart tumbling.
“I like macramé.”
His blade pauses and he regards me for a moment. “Like the knots with the rope? Making hanging plant holders and stuff like that?”
“Yeah,” I answer, “it’s called cord, but you’ve got the idea. I haven’t gotten to do it since I was a teenager.”
“That’s actually pretty cool,” he says, now cutting into the wood to carve out what looks distinctively like two pointed ears.
“Did you think I’d be boring? Like my secret hobby is watching paint dry or organizing socks?” I try to sound indignant.
“Don’t diss sock organizing. You have no idea what I do in my private time,” he says dryly, turning the little statue over in his hand to inspect his progress.
“I knew it,” I mutter. Jasper rolls his eyes but then pauses. My arms prickle with tiny bumps from the cold. He’s staring at my skin.
