same level of reading fluency as a ten-year-old. That could have been due to dyslexia or some other learning disorder, of course, but he didn’t seem to have any trouble identifying letters or sounding out words. She had a gut feeling that he just hadn’t been educated past a certain level.
Wonder if that could be a clue. Fenrir’s limited vocabulary and reading issues would make sense if he’d been turned into a hellhound at a young age. And even if he’d been abandoned in the wilderness, surely someone would have reported a missing kid. If she could narrow down the possible date range, maybe she could dig something up from police archives…
Leaving Fenrir debating between Illustrated Birds of Prey of the World and The Year-Round Vegetable Garden, she wandered down the book aisle, looking for the children’s section. She’d scooped up a couple of math and reading comprehension workbooks when a bright box set caught her eye. She picked it up, running her thumb over the familiar titles.
“Are smiling like you’ve met a friend.” Fenrir’s voice made her start. Lost in nostalgia, she hadn’t heard him coming up behind her. “One you haven’t seen in a long time.”
“In a way, I have.” She showed him the cover of the slipcase. “These were my favorite books when I was a kid. I read them so many times, I wore out the library’s copies. My parents had to get me my own set, and then I wore those out too. Twice.”
“Nan-cy Drew Mys-ter-ies,” Fenrir sounded out, slowly. He pointed at the girl on the front cover, illustrated in 1930s era clothing. “This is Nancy?”
“Yep. The original version. She’s gone through a lot of different iterations over the years, but I always liked this Nancy the best. Sharp and sassy, catching the killers while dressed to kill.”
“Solving mysteries. Just like you.”
She laughed, a little embarrassed. “These books set my whole life course. Nancy made a big impression on me. When I was little, I used to pretend she was my best friend. I didn’t have any real ones, at that age.”
Fenrir looked up from the books, studying her face. “Why not?”
Darcy shrugged, trying to make light of it. “I was a weird kid. Hyperlexic—that’s when you can read way beyond your age range. I was a know-it-all teacher’s pet, tiny and klutzy and always asking way too many questions. Grown-ups thought I was cute. Other kids just thought I was annoying.”
Fenrir rumbled, a shade off a growl. “Are not annoying.” He paused, looking thoughtful, and added, “Not cute, either. Both were wrong.”
“Hey!” Darcy pretended to take offense. She cocked a hip, pouting up at him. “Are you saying you don’t think I’m cute?”
She’d been joking, but Fenrir’s expression was utterly serious. He shook his head.
“Little, soft, fragile things are cute,” he said. “You are not cute. Beautiful, yes. But not cute.”
That was the moment Darcy realized that she was in big trouble.
I’m not going to be able to walk away from this man.
It wasn’t just his overpowering physical attractiveness. It wasn’t even the mystery that surrounded him. She could have known literally every single detail of his past, and yet he would still be able to surprise her.
Fenrir put the Nancy Drew set into his cart. “I want to read these. To understand you better.”
“I think you already understand me pretty well.” She cleared her throat, struggling to recover her composure. “So, uh, looks like you’ve got gifts for everyone now. Ready to go pay?”
Fenrir’s face broke into a rare, beaming smile. “Not yet. Saved the best for last. This way.”
She followed as he set off again. He looked so excited, she’d assumed his final purchases must be for himself…until he turned down an aisle lined with stacks of diapers and soft, brightly colored toys. She froze.
“Look at all this!” Fenrir turned in a complete circle, arms spread as though he wanted to sweep the whole aisle into his cart. “Didn’t know babies needed so many things—Darcy? What is wrong?”
She forced a smile, stepping back. “Nothing. Listen, I want to grab a coffee. Meet me at the cafe when you’re done, okay?”
Fenrir’s expression fell. “But wanted—I wanted to do this with you. Pick gifts for the little ones.”
“This isn’t really my wheelhouse, big guy.” She shooed him back in the direction of the baby aisle. “Go on. You do your thing. And don’t rush on my account. I’ll be fine on my own.”
She strode away without waiting for a response. He called her