Page 17 of Fat Arranged Mate
And why, despite all logical reasons not to, does some treacherous part of me find comfort in his scent lingering on the air, in knowing he's standing guard while I try to sleep?
Chapter 6 - Dylan
The cottage floor plan is burned into my memory before sunrise.
Two bedrooms, one bathroom, four exterior windows, two doors—front and back. Limited sightlines from the kitchen. Vulnerable points at the rear window and side door. Defense positions: living room corner for maximum visibility, bathroom for emergency shelter, master bedroom closet for weapons cache.
I've been up since four, establishing protocols without disturbing Sera. Old habits. In Cheslem, I imagine, early risers weren't checking security perimeters.
I'm installing a secondary lock on the back door when I hear her bedroom door open. The soft pad of bare feet on hardwood. A quiet yawn.
"What are you doing?" Her voice is still rough with sleep, an intimate sound that catches me off guard.
I finish tightening the last screw before turning. "Security upgrade."
Sera stands in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed over a faded t-shirt that hangs loose on her frame. Her hair is mussed from sleep, cascading over one shoulder in honey-blonde waves. Without makeup, her face looks younger, more vulnerable. The sight makes something twist uncomfortably in my gut.
"At six in the morning?" She moves to the coffee maker, pointedly ignoring my tool kit spread across the floor.
"Best time to assess entry points. When it's quiet."
Sera makes a noncommittal sound, measuring coffee grounds with careful precision. "Any other house rules I should know about, or are you saving those for breakfast?"
The sarcasm isn't lost on me. "Actually, yes." I put down the screwdriver, watching her shoulders tense. "Check in if you're going to be late. No bringing strangers back here. Keep curtains closed after dark. Always lock up, even if you're just stepping outside briefly."
"Anything else?" Her tone is carefully neutral as she presses the brew button. "No talking to strangers? No accepting candy from men in vans?"
"This isn't a joke." I move to the kitchen, maintaining enough distance to avoid crowding her. "These people shot a shifter with silver bullets three days ago. This isn't a vacation."
She turns, coffee forgotten, eyes suddenly sharp. "You think I don't know that? You think I don't understand danger?"
"I think you underestimate humans."
"And I think you overestimate your control over this situation." She gestures at the tools scattered around the cottage. "These locks won't save us if our cover is blown. Blending in will."
I clench my jaw, hating that she has a point. "Fine. What's your brilliant strategy for day one?"
"Reconnaissance. But subtle." Sera pours coffee into two mugs without asking if I want one. "New couple explores town, meets neighbors, establishes presence. We observe without looking like we're observing."
I accept the coffee she extends, surprised by the gesture. "Agreed. But we establish boundaries first."
"Such as?"
"Personal space. Living arrangements. Cover maintenance." I take a sip, finding the coffee stronger than expected. Not unpleasant. "We're supposed to be newly married. That means some... physical contact in public. For appearances."
A flush creeps up her neck, and she looks away. "Nothing excessive."
"I know." It comes out stiffer than intended. "While we're here, the bathroom schedule—"
"I need fifteen minutes in the morning. That's it."
"Same. Kitchen cleanup—"
"Whoever cooks doesn't clean. Fair?"
I nod, surprised by her efficiency. "Security checks are my responsibility. Morning and night."
"Fine. But no excessive weaponry lying around. If hunters visit unexpectedly, we can't have silver bullets on the coffee table."
