Souffle and Prawn Bisque for me. English pork pie for Keir.
Hearing the question, Jeff gave me an interested look. I could tell that he was dying to stay and hear the answer, but to his credit he forced himself to move away, past hearing distance.
“Why would there be a room for you, Keir?” I was interested in hearing the answer to this question, myself. “You already have a place to sleep.”
“Not a bedroom, you ninny. I’ll be sharing a bed with you. Of course. But every gentleman needs a room for his books and treasures and such.”
“And whacking off?” I was ecstatic that I’d caught him so off guard that he almost spit out a mouthful of Guinness. I continued eating calmly while he coughed into his napkin a few times. There was no need for concern since he was practically immortal and all. While he was busy sputtering instead of answering, I continued. “I missed the discussion about sharing my house or my bed with you.”
When he was fully recovered, he said, “Perhaps details haven’t been hammered out in a conspicuous manner.”
“Details?” I was a little astonished by this reaction.
Ignoring that, he pressed on. “But certainly the implication hangs in the air.”
“Implication?” I pretended ignorance.
“Of living as a couple…” Lowering his chin, he said, “With all that implies is tacitly inferred.”
“Is it?”
Suddenly the tone was more serious and less banter. “You know perfectly well that we’ve been moving toward an understanding. At. Your. Pace. With no pressure or complaint from me.”
He had a point.
“You might have a point.”
“A very valid point.”
“Hmmm. Well, I already gave you that. But I think we moved things forward just before supper tonight.”
His answer was the transformation of his face from stormy scowl to sexy smile as he buried a huge spoonful of porkpie in his beautiful mouth. He appeared to be reveling in a victory that seemed small to me, but was apparently monumental to him.
“Did we just have our first fight?”
“I wouldn’t call it a fight.”
“Close enough. So. Makeup sex?”
“I might agree to makeup making out.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “Are we ready to talk timetables?”
“Timetables for sex?”
He grinned. “I would love to have that talk. Anytime. But I was thinking more about sleepovers?”
“Well…” I wasn’t sure what I wanted to say, so I let my eyes glaze over as a parade of all the things that could go wrong with that marched across the screen in my head.
“If you’re serious about getting puppies, I should be a regular in the household before then. They’ll never think anything of it if I’m around from the beginning.”
I wasn’t certified in canine psychology and didn’t know if it would help with magical beasts even if I was, but what Keir was saying made sense.
“Timetables. I don’t know how long they’ll need to stay with Aisling. With real, um…” I looked around to make sure that I recognized all those within earshot as non-human, “dogs, it would be at least six weeks. “But I don’t know about…” I had to stop and laugh. “I don’t even know what to call Angus and Aisling. I wonder if there’s a name for magical wolves that look like approachable Border Collies to humans.”
“Wolfdogs?”
I shrugged. “I guess that’s as good a term as any. So you’re a dog person?”
He smiled while chewing. “You were expecting me to be a cat person?”
“Funny. I really hadn’t thought about it. I’ve just been so taken with the idea of getting ‘dogs’.” I chuckled. “I guess you could say I’m expecting.”
“Have you always had dogs?”
“No. My ex didn’t like them.”
Keir sat back. “So that meant you couldn’t have what you wanted?”
“Yep. That’s what it meant.”
He shook his head like he disapproved of that. Put another score in his plus column.
“I would not describe myself as a dog person. You probably noticed I don’t have one. But I am British. There’s a cultural mandate to like dogs. If the pups get used to having me around from the beginning, they’ll think it’s the most natural thing in the world to live with a sephalian.” Pause. “But my room is off limits,” he teased.
“Right. We both know why and it’s not fear of puppy peepee.” I wiggled my eyebrows.
Keir walked me home, as he did every night. Only that night he looked at my door pointedly. The message was silent, but it was also loud and clear.
“I’d ask you in. For a few minutes, but I don’t want to create any misunderstanding. I’m not offering a ‘sleepover’.”