“Doesn't need to be fancy to be good,” she said. “Thank you.”
Morgan practically purred, and she wondered when someone had last thanked him for something. He didn't have the look of someone who had been thanked for much recently, and she wondered all over again at that loss of weight and the occasionally cagey look he got when she tripped over something sensitive.
Morgan plated two egg sandwiches and brought them to the table, pausing momentarily at the fabric that she had piled up in the other, usually-unused chair.
“Ah, sorry, let me get that.”
Morgan shot her a quizzical look as she shook out some of the test-garments and gathered them up to stow in the living room.
“Are those trousers that fasten up the back? Are you trying to start a new trend?”
“I wish. No, some of my regular clients are disabled. Maybe some thirty percent of my work is altering clothing to make it more adaptive to their needs, and a small percentage of that is dedicated to trying to make better adaptive clothing in general. I wish it was more, honestly.”
She saw his eyes drop to her wrist, bare of its brace so far today, and peaceably she took a bite of the sandwich. He could always ask if he was so curious.
They ate together in silence, but there was nothing sharp or heavy abut it. The sandwich used plenty of butter and a little of the hot sauce she kept on hand along with a sprinkle of grated cheese. It was simple but perfect, and finally she sighed after the last bite.
“That was delicious, thank you,” she said, and she was rewarded with a smile.
“Do you want more? I can make you another one.”
“Want, yes. Need, no. Should have, no. It's a little heavier than what I eat for breakfast in the first place, but I really don't mind.”
“I can find us something lighter for lunch,” Morgan offered, and Harper could see how very easy it could be. Something in her was already whispering to let it be easy, to let Morgan slide in, to let him do what he liked best, which seemed to have a lot to do with what she liked best.
Instead, she shook her head.
“Look, as much as I might like a…dragon butler, we need to figure things out, all right? I don't – I don't know about this true mate stuff.”
“You don't know it, you just feel it.”
“Like you do?”
His nod was sure and certain, and when he saw her dubious look, he sighed.
“You like me, right?”
“Yes.” The answer came out, pure unvarnished truth, and they both looked a touch startled.
“I'm glad,” Morgan said. “We can start there. Come to the convocation with me.”
“Is that the event you need the suit for?”
“It is. It's a gathering of my family and the clans with which we have the closest links. I'll be there this weekend, and I can't avoid going.”
“And you can't wait until, say, next week to come back and let us getting a proper wooing on?”
“I'd rather not,” he said with a slight smile. “I'm a spoiled only child, I'm afraid.”
“And you don't think your family is going to pitch a fit about you bringing home some random seamstress and presenting her as your true mate?”
“They'll be thrilled. And you can speak to some people who have been in your shoes. Some of us take our spouses from other clans, but true mates are often humans who have no idea of our world until the thunderbolt strikes.”
All right, that was tempting. Harper couldn't deny that there was definitely something going on here, something beyond just a physical infatuation and a dry spell. There was something about Morgan that made her heart beat faster. Even now, she wanted to reach out and graze her fingertips across the fine line of his jaw.
She shook her head.
“I don't know. You know how this sounds, right? It's fast, I have a business...”
Morgan paused, and a thoughtful look crossed his face.
“I might have some business for you.”
She frowned.
“Look, I told you before –“
“Not that kind, I promise. But one of my cousins, Miranda, or rather her daughter. She's…Oh, three or four by now, maybe? She hates clothes.”
“Most kids go through a phase where they hate clothes. Is she shedding them to run around naked? That's pretty common.”
“It is, but no. It's more screaming fits when she has to wear most clothing, and crying, and so much upset that her mother and father are at their wits' end.”
Harper considered.
“That could be a few things. Do they give her clothes that are too small, or even too big? Little kids are sensitive, and that might be enough.”
“I don't know. I'm afraid that I don't pay much attention during the family talks, but when I saw them a few months ago, they were getting worried. Would that be something you could do, come and look and see if you could help?”
“I'm not a pediatrician or a child psychologist...”
“You don't have to be, but you do work with clothes. You make sure they fit the person rather than the person having to fit them, right?”
“it's not nice to throw people's words at them, Morgan.”
“When the words are very true, I don't mind pitching them where they might help.”
He grinned, so boyish for a moment that she had to resist the urge to lean over and ruffle his hair. That made her think about how it had felt the last time she had gotten her fingers into it, and she shoved her thoughts aside in a hurry, because wow, that was absolutely not conducive to making good decisions right now.
“What are you afraid of?”
If it had come out as a taunt, she would have known that she should go nowhere with Morgan Castell, no matter what the tug at the very core of her was saying. Instead he uttered it gently, his hand coming across the table to rest over hers, and she swallowed. She noticed that he had placed it
