“Can you turn other people into one through a bite?”
The room grew silent and I kept playing with the strip of fabric, pretending I didn’t notice he was watching me closely.
“I can’t make you one of us, if that’s what you’re asking. This isn’t a curse that’s transmitted like a disease. You need to erase all those fictional werewolf stories you’ve watched in movies made to vilify what humans don’t understand. We’re not werewolves; Shifters are the spirits of man and animal inhabiting one body. Long ago, humans knew what we were. Man kills what he fears or doesn’t understand. Sometimes they kill out of jealousy. It’s why we’ve separated from your kind and live in secret.”
“Just curious.”
“That’s fine. I don’t expect you to wrap your head around it all at once. It’s not every day you learn that the big bad wolf is real,” he said with a dark chuckle.
Reno stood up and unloaded several cans of vegetables into an overhead cabinet. I got the rest of the bags out of the truck and decided to give the trailer a deep clean like it had never known before. I turned on a small radio and we listened to Billy Joel and some blues while we worked. Little did Reno know that I worshipped Billy Joel, although after me singing every word without missing a beat, maybe he figured it out. But he didn’t complain about my taste in music and I liked that. It was romantic listening to John Lee Hooker’s “Boom Boom” while Reno stripped out of his shirt and fixed my trailer in nothing but his black pants and socks.
Once I had my fill of eye candy, I closed the curtain to my bedroom and began to decorate. I was so excited when the comforter was spread across the bed that I leapt on top of it and let out a squeal. I took out the e-reader that Trevor had bought for me and read a few chapters. Then I dozed off for a few minutes. Or maybe it was an hour.
When I opened my eyes, Reno was hanging up a new curtain. He had stripped down the makeshift one I’d made from a sheet. His was made from white lace—so breathtakingly delicate and beautiful. I reached over and flipped on my new orange lamp, softening the glow in the room.
“This’ll look better,” he said, sliding it along the track. “You like it?”
“Love it,” I said sleepily.
Etta James sang “Misty Blue” in the background and the rain created a symphony of sound against the roof overhead.
Reno pointed to the corner by the door. “No more leak,” he said proudly.
“Thanks so much for your help.”
I wanted to freeze-frame that night and make all the bad things disintegrate into ashes and blow away.
Reno scratched his shoulder and crossed his arms, standing in the corner and looking uncomfortable as hell. “What are those?” he asked, pointing to a small shelf on the wall.
I looked at the low shelf on my right and smiled. “Snow globes. My dad used to give them to me when I was little, but I stopped collecting them after he died. The water evaporated in a couple of the smaller ones.”
I had a total of fourteen. My dad had initiated a tradition when I was born where he gave me one every Christmas. He always managed to make it have a personal connection or a special meaning. Like the father-and-daughter one on the left. It was only after his death that my grandma told me that he had made them. She said it was his secret hobby and that he’d search for just the right pieces and put them all together to personalize it.
Reno’s eyes lit with interest as he looked between all of them.
“Will you lie beside me?” I asked. “Keep me company for a little while?”
Without a word, he crossed to the left side of the room and sat on the edge of the bed. I glanced up at his back, tempted to touch it, but kept my hands folded across my stomach. Then he threw his heavy legs on the bed and reclined onto the fluffy pillow. Our arms touched and a grin eased across his face.
“This is nice. The mirrors look good up there,” he said, pointing to the left.
“I didn’t think you’d be able to get them up because of these walls. Makes the room seem bigger.” They were small mirrors and he had bought some strong adhesives to mount them.
I glanced down at his socks and sat up. Wet socks, the closer I looked. “You are not wearing wet socks in my new bed, Reno Cole.”
I peeled one off and he hooked his hands around my waist, trying to pull me back. I giggled and grabbed his foot, tickling the bottom.
I’m not sure if tickling a man is ever a good idea, because he had a knee-jerk reaction and almost bucked me off the bed. He gripped the hem of my jeans and pulled me fast into his arms. I curled up beside him, my head resting on his shoulder and my right arm draped across his bare chest like a sash. I tried to be subtle as I inhaled so Reno wouldn’t notice I was sniffing him, but I couldn’t help but think he smelled inexplicably wonderful.
“Why do you have a man on your wall?”
My eyes skimmed over to the poster. “That’s not a man. That’s Billy Joel.”