her, even if she had been the one to bring the food.
Harper glanced at the can and then back to him. “Yes,” she murmured. “Lucas . . . Jak . . . which do you prefer?”
“I’ve lived my life as Jak. Until . . . I went to the . . . sheriff building.”
Her brow wrinkled. “Then . . . Jak, I want you to know that you can trust me. I’d like to help you if you’ll let me.” She looked back at the can he was still holding. “And yes, I’d love some dinner.”
It was dark outside now, and the candles were making shadows on the walls. How many times had Jak sat at this table, eating a meal, and it’d felt cold and lonely? Especially after Pup died. Especially then. But now, he felt a closeness with another person that he’d never felt before. It made him feel peaceful. It made him feel terrified. It made him think of the family who had been taken from him, or that he’d watched walk away, and the memories made an icy-cold knife slice slowly through him, cutting, tearing, just like all the cuts and wounds that had made scars on his skin. He shouldn’t get attached to this woman, because he didn’t want to feel pain when she left.
She smiled around a bite of food.
“What?” he asked.
“This is a first.”
He tilted his head as she let out a happy laugh. “A date of franks and beans by candlelight.”
“A date?”
Her smile faded. “Oh, yes. No. I mean, not that it’s a date. But . . . I mean, it could be. I don’t want you to think . . . Not that . . . anyway, it’s nice is what I mean.” She lowered her eyes but then peeked up at him.
He remembered what she’d said. “You’re talking a lot, which means you’re not saying something.”
She laughed. “Maybe I shouldn’t have given myself away.” But her eyes were warm and she smiled. “I like spending time with you is what I was trying to say.”
“Why?”
She blinked. “Why do I like spending time with you, Jak?”
He sat back slowly. He loved hearing his name—his real name—on her lips. “Yes.”
She stared at him for a few seconds, tilting her chin a little. “Because I find you interesting and kind. You surprise me, but in good ways. I like the things you say, and I like watching you discover new things. I admire how you’ve survived out here alone for all of these years.” She looked off to the side. “No, admire isn’t strong enough a word. I’m in awe of how you’ve survived out here all of these years, and I’m sure I don’t know the half of it. I hope someday you might trust me enough to tell me. You value truth, Jak, so that’s it. One hundred percent.”
His lips tipped. I like you, he thought, amazement rushing through him. He remembered it—the feeling of . . . affection, was that the word? Yes, he thought it was. The warmth for another human, the . . . liking of them being with you. Not a wanting to mate—though that was there too. The feeling of . . . affection was a good one, a liking that couldn’t be taken away by leaving. It would stay whether she did or not. It made him feel good knowing there was another thing no one could steal from him.
He liked her. It was his. That was all.
At the same time, he felt guilt. How could he value truth like she’d said, and also be a liar? He had so many questions about the world, about life, and humans, so many things that confused him. Did he believe what he’d said when he’d told her keeping information from someone was different than lying? Was there any difference? No, he thought. He knew there wasn’t, because both had been done to him, and in the end, the pain was the same.
So many doubts and questions swirled inside him. His mind was a tidepool, thoughts rushing here, there, in, out, going in circles. So fast he couldn’t get his balance. These new feelings that had only come because he cared what this woman thought. Human feelings. Human questions. He wanted her trust. He wanted her to like him. “What do you value?”
“Me?”
“Yes. Above all else,” he said, repeating her words.
She was quiet, looking like she was thinking hard about his question. “Stability I think . . .