Cleo had known that Siobhan read, of course, but she hadn’t realized that her sister’s tastes in books were entirely catholic. She read everything. Siobhan had read classics, pulp, romance, sci-fi, scientific journals, literary fiction, and reams of nonfiction. Apparently epidemiology could be a hobby, which Cleo hadn’t realized was even a thing. Neither woman believed in guilty pleasures, or guilty reading, since Orlaith made them feel guilty for reading any book when they were younger.
The only thing Siobhan didn’t like reading about, of course, was witches. Cleo wasn’t sure how to approach that, or even how to raise the issue that, ‘Hey sis, next week my coven is coming over. Mind making yourself scarce so you don’t sneer at the nice witches?’
So Cleo did what she did best and avoided the issue. It was a problem for a different day. And she enjoyed her time with Siobhan. She was still a disaster in the garden, but good company to have around.
And Ian… Ian was the best company. Their time together hadn’t been a one-time ‘adult sleep-over.’ It definitely hadn’t been a meaningless scratch to itch. Ian wanted to talk to her, and she found herself, for the first time in her life, wanting to talk.
Thanks to the gallons of tea he kept supplying her with, she could be with someone. No, not just someone. She could be with Ian. They didn’t do anything out of the ordinary, and that was the best part to Cleo. They were ordinary. They were a boring couple. It was glorious.
Ian, it turned out, cooked with the authority of someone used to being in the kitchen. He was thrilled she’d brought over vegetables that first night: freshly cut romaine lettuce, sweet juicy cucumbers and tomatoes, and a heavy yellow squash. He’d swept her in his arms and kissed her in thanks, and their dinner of grilled vegetables, salad, and steaks was well-charred by the time Ian had released her. He was just so joyous about having her in his arms that Cleo wasn’t always sure how to respond. Ian made her feel like someone cherished, and it was as weird as it was intoxicating.
He got quiet when his ex was mentioned, even peripherally, and that was easy to avoid too. Cleo couldn’t fathom why any woman would drop Ian over something so dumb as occasionally turning furry.
Ian turning furry was amazing. He was shy about it. Cleo could tell he couldn’t quite believe that she thought it was okay, that it was something she wanted to see.
“I’m an apex predator!”
“You’re a lumbering goof who can’t resist honey. I’m on to you.”
Ian’s grin was ferocious, his teeth a little too long to be completely human. He was trying to scare her, she knew, to give her time to back away. She had no patience for that.
“Shift! Shift! Shift!” She raised her arms with imaginary pom poms like a particularly deranged cheerleader. “Yayyy Shift!”
Ian’s back rippled in response. He pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it carelessly on the floor. Cleo hadn’t known before that a strip show could be both funny and sexy, and Ian managed it every time he shifted. He hooked his thumbs into his pajama pants - it was breakfast and neither of them had gotten dressed yet. The coffee and conversation was too good. Cleo had brushed her teeth though. She was lazy, not an idiot.
He kept pulling off articles of clothing, and Cleo cheered appreciatively with each new article of clothing that left. His boxer briefs were half-way off him when Cleo heard a choked laugh behind her.
“Carry on!” Siobhan’s laugh wafted down the hallway. “But I want coffee eventually!”
Ian’s eyes were wide, and Cleo gave him jazz hands instead of pretend pom poms. “Trust me, she’s not mad,” she assured him. “She’s not mad one bit.”
She followed him outside, and he collapsed into the shift. She hated how it hurt him, but every time he shifted he came back to his human side a little calmer. It was good for him, she privately thought, to see that not all women were idiots about this.
They went to her woods, and the green space accepted him without reservation. Granted, he’d been lumbering through the woods in his bear form before she even knew he was a shifter, but still, she wondered what her woods would think of him. Some individuals, Cleo knew, shifted the harmony of the green space just a tad dissonant. Something about Siobhan threw them off. Her mother they barely sang for, the hum of the various plants Cleo raised as a kid the faintest whisper as Orlaith passed.
For Ian, though, the song was as complicated and beautiful as when Cleo moved through her woods. It pleased her to think that maybe her woods approved of him. Silly to think that - they hadn’t had any discussions of whether or not they were dating. They were just messing around, right? Maybe she was in this deeper than he was.
Ian huffed a question. Cleo realized she’d stopped and started to angrily rip apart some dead branches on the ground. “Sorry,” she apologized. She wasn’t sure if she was talking to Ian or her woods, for bringing that kind of anger into this gentle space.
Ian’s broad head gently butted into her, nearly knocking her over. “Hey!” she exclaimed, and pushed him back. Tried to push. She strained, bending her knees to engage her quads and butt, and he just stood there. Simply stood there like nothing was moving him! He snorted in amusement as she braced her hands against his side and in a last attempt, used all her body weight to attempt to move him.
“You’re - lucky,” she said through gritted teeth, “that - I’m - just - letting you - stay there!” She tried one last final shove. Ian must’ve taken pity on her because he
