Hope(less)

by Melissa Haag

  * * * *

  With nothing to drink, I dressed to go shopping. Clay waited for me just outside my door.

  “Wanna come shopping with me or stay here?” I knew he’d want to go even if he did have to stay in the car. He moved to stand by the back door.

  We drove to one of those discount supercenters. I left Clay in the car with the windows cracked—it was more for show than actual airflow. If he got hot, he’d just let himself out.

  It worried me a bit that I needed to shop several days sooner than planned. In order to feed Clay and myself, I had already made compromises in my original budget. Yet, at this rate, I would surpass even my revised spending allowance for groceries. That meant I needed to change my shopping habits, not just to save money but to fill the pantry with more food. I didn’t mind eating light, but looking back, since Clay didn’t eat his dog food—not that I blamed him—he ate light, too. A little too light when I recalled how much Sam could consume.

  The orange juice I liked cost more than a five-pound bag of potatoes. I put the potatoes in the cart and walked past the fresh juice. Maybe I could buy a decent concentrate. I went to the freezer section, found some cheap veggies, and ignored the speculative look from a man a few yards away.

  Everyone found shopping a pain at some point. I found it a pain all the time.

  In the next case, I studied the meat options. The flash-frozen chicken breasts were cheaper than the steaks per pound so I went with those. The man moved from the veggies to the meats as I eyed the cart and tried to envision our meals. Meat, potato, and veggie.

  Before the man tried to start a conversation, I moved on to dry goods. A large tub of generic peanut butter and another of grape jelly joined the growing heap in the cart. I used my other vision to check for and skillfully avoid as many men as possible while I wove through the aisles. Not for the first time, I wished I could tell men and women apart.

  Always on the lookout for deals, I spotted the day-old bakery rack and found two loaves of bread for a dollar. The cart held more than it usually did when I went shopping. Although, it lacked variety, it had quantity; and I’d managed to keep it under twenty dollars. My smug happiness lasted until I recalled I needed something to drink in the morning. Dang. And cereal. Oh, well. Under thirty still helped the budget.

  When I thought back to what Clay had already done for me, like putting on clothes last night, I couldn’t regret spending more to feed him. And there was still the faucet that awaited him. I frowned as I realized all he had to wear was the linen getup. Surely, I could spare enough to buy Clay a decent set of clothes.

  I turned the cart around and hunted the store for the best bargains. The store had off-brand denims on sale. I guessed at his size and tossed a pair in the cart. Next, I stumbled upon a returned three pack of t-shirts that looked poorly repackaged. I saw nothing wrong with the shirts and figured the low price correlated with the packaging. Whatever dropped the price down by three dollars worked for me.

  A flannel shirt, hidden within the mass of other shirts on the clearance rack, caught my eye. I looked it over closely. The shirt lacked most of the middle buttons. An easy enough fix. I put it in the cart. It would get chilly soon, and he’d need it. I paused. Would he stay that long? Probably. He showed no sign of wanting to leave. I went to find some warm socks then looked for shoes. I had to guess the size based on the feet that I’d seen last night.

  Waiting in the checkout line proved painfully annoying. I couldn’t avoid men while standing still. However, I did manage to find an open lane with a female cashier. Two men lined up behind me and persistently tried to start up a conversation with me before I unloaded the cart. The woman gave me a look. Whatever.

  I left the store in a hurry. Usually, if I put enough distance between us, my admirers forgot about me.

  The cart clattered over the blacktop as I made my way to the car. Clay watched for me from the back seat. His steady gaze tracked my progress. I looked forward to showing him what I’d managed to purchase and smiled at him.

  Unfortunately, the man who’d just pulled into the space beyond my car thought I’d meant the smile for him. I mentally groaned as I kept pushing the cart toward my car. The man climbed down from his truck. Like Clay, he didn’t stop watching me as he stepped out from between the vehicles to wait for me. Clay tensed inside the car.

  “Hi, there. Need a hand?” the man said.

  I stopped near the trunk.

  “No, thanks. I got it.”

  He didn’t leave.

  “My name’s Dale. I own Dale’s Auto Body on South Mitchell. You should bring your car by. It looks like it might be due for an oil change.”

  Did I really look dumb enough to believe he could determine the car needed an oil change just by looking at the exterior? It certainly wasn’t leaking oil as a giveaway.

  “That’s a nice offer, but my boyfriend does the oil changes.” I unlocked the trunk and started to load groceries.

  Dale didn’t take the hint and go away.

  “He’s a handy guy, then?” He grabbed the potatoes and set them in the trunk for me. Unfortunately, it brought him closer.

  “Yes, very.” A brief conversation sometimes worked to get rid of a pest.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” he said.

  I could see Clay through the back window. Crouched down, he watched the man though the small gap between the trunk lid and the trunk. I bent forward and set a bag in the trunk so Dale wouldn’t see me as I rolled my eyes at Clay. Clay’s gaze briefly flicked to me before returning to Dale with serious intent.

  “Gabby,” I said as I closed the trunk. “Thanks for helping me with the groceries, but I need to get going. My dog’s been in the car for a while already.”

  Not waiting for his reply, I moved the cart to the empty spot next to my car.

  “We have an opening at the shop. If your boyfriend’s looking for work, send him by. We’ll see how good he is,” Dale said, opening the driver-side door for me.

  Clay hopped from the back seat to the driver’s seat. With bristling fur, he growled at Dale, who backed away a step.

  I nodded to Dale and nudged Clay over so I could slide in behind the wheel. Braving Clay’s wrath, Dale closed the door for me. I started the car and pulled through the empty spot in front of me.

  “Well, that was a challenge if I ever heard one.” I reached over to pet Clay’s head. “But no challenges until you fix the sink.” He looked up at me, and I smiled.

  When we got back to the house, both Rachel and Peter were gone. That seemed to make Clay happy. It definitely made me happy. I hadn’t been sure how Clay would get dressed with Rachel around.

  “You go shower while I unpack. Then you can look at the sink and see if we have to call that bigheaded plumber back.”

  He willingly trotted to the bathroom. After that first time, I’d learned to let him close the door on his own.

  It didn’t take long for me to put the groceries away. When I finished unpacking, I picked up the pile of things I’d bought for Clay and went to my room. The stuff from yesterday already hung neatly in my closet except for some underclothes which I’d hidden in my bottom drawer. I grabbed an item from his drawer—it made it less personal if I didn’t over think it—then moved to the bathroom. I could hear the shower running and tapped on the door.

  “I’m coming in, so please stay behind the curtain.” I waited a moment then entered. Steam already filled the room. “I have some clothes for you. Better stuff for looking at a sink than what I bought yesterday.” I realized then that I’d never actually asked him if he would help.

  “Clay, I’m so sorry,” I apologized sincerely. “I’m being rude and making assumptions. Will you look at the sink? Please?” I asked using my syrupy voice.

  He splashed me over the top of the curtain...again.

  “Ok, ok. I’ll just leave the stuff here on the
floor. If something doesn’t fit or you don’t like it, leave the tags on it, and we’ll take it back. I guessed on the shoes. Some of the stuff isn’t for now, but I figured you could try it on.” I realized I was rambling at the same time I remembered the missing buttons on the shirt. I closed my mouth and quickly grabbed the flannel from the pile.

  The water turned off just then, and I rushed from the bathroom.

  In my room, I pulled out my travel sewing kit and got to work moving buttons around. The two spares on the inside seam remained intact. With those and a close match I found in the sewing kit, I solved the missing button problem.

  While I stitched, I listened for Clay to leave the bathroom. By the time I finished, I still hadn’t heard anything. I set the repaired shirt aside and went to look for him.

  I found him in the kitchen. He already had his head bent over the faucet. The jeans hung loosely from his hips. The white shirt clung lightly to his back, outlining the curve of each muscle and his broad, firm shoulders. I blinked twice, swallowed hard, and caught myself a moment before I tried clearing my throat to swallow again. The clothes I’d picked out looked good. A little too good. And looking at him in them did funny things to my stomach.

  Thankfully, he didn’t look up and notice my gawking. I pulled myself together and moved to the refrigerator. Opening it, I studied the contents then grabbed what I needed to make him a big breakfast: eggs, bacon, potatoes, and yes, orange juice...from concentrate. I set everything on the table.

  When first staying with Sam, he’d amazed me with the amount of food he’d consumed on a daily basis. He’d explained that the werewolf’s metabolism ran a bit higher than the average person's did. So, I planned to make enough breakfast for three and only serve myself one portion, leaving the rest for Clay.

  While he ran down to the basement, I washed the potatoes under the pathetic trickle of water. When he came back, I noticed he still had bare feet.

  “The shoes didn’t fit?” I moved to the table to peel the potatoes and stay out of his way.

  He shrugged in response. I tried to guess what that might mean.

  “So they fit, but you didn’t want to wear them?”

  No response. He continued to tinker with the sink. I started to cut the potatoes.

  “Did you like them, or should we bring them back? I wasn’t sure what style you liked. There were several different colors. They’re cheap shoes, but I figured it was better than walking around barefoot in the snow. That’s got to be cold even for you.”

  Halfway through my one-sided conversation, he’d turned to look at me. I knew I’d rambled a little...again. Then I realized I’d just referred to him still living here in winter. I had really grown used to having him around. Kind of. I hoped he wasn’t looking at me because of that.

  “I just don’t want you to think you have to keep them if you don’t like them. It won’t hurt my feelings if we take them back. Just wear the flip flops for now, and you can come in with me next time and pick out what you like.” The plain, grey and blue running shoes were muted enough that I’d thought they’d look okay with whatever he wore in the future. I hadn’t given the style more thought than that.

  I got up from the table and put some butter in the pan on the stove. When I turned to get the diced potatoes, he was sitting on a chair at the table. He already had his socks on and was bent forward to slide his feet into the shoes.

  “No, no, no, Clay.” I hurried over, reached out, and almost touched his back before I caught myself and pulled my hand away. “I wasn’t saying you had to wear them.” He continued to tie the shoes. “It’s okay to bring them back if you don’t like them.”

  When he finished tying, he stood and looked down at his feet. I could see him wiggle his toes through the canvas and mesh tops. The length seemed to fit well enough. The loose, untied lacing told me they ran a little snug in the width. He moved past me and walked to the sink then back to try out the shoes. What little I could see of his expression appeared relaxed, as did his stride.

  “You like shoes but you don’t wear them much, do you?”

  He answered with his typical passive shrug as he moved back to the sink.

  The sizzle of the potatoes called my attention, and I got another pan out to start the bacon. He used the tools he’d brought up from the basement to try to fix the sink while I cooked. The sound of water running at full pressure heralded breakfast.

  “Good to have a handyman,” I commented setting our plates on the table.

  Clay cleaned up the tools and disappeared downstairs. I wondered if he would come back in his fur and eyed the plate I’d set on the table for him. We had eaten together before but always with him in his fur. Before I could stop it, an image of him trying to use a fork for the first time popped into my head. I quickly squashed the picture and sat down to wait for him in whatever form he chose. I would not underestimate him again. Nor would I thoughtlessly remark on his table manners no matter how poor they might be.

  The soft tread on the stairs warned me that he remained a man. He sat across from me and dug in. He didn’t eat like Clay-the-dog or use his hands. Instead, he had perfectly normal table manners. Though his beard shredded it, he even used his paper napkin in an effort to keep himself neat.

  “What are the chances of trimming that beard?”

  He used his napkin while he finished chewing and then flashed me a full view of his teeth. His canines remained completely elongated as if he still wore his fur. I froze briefly with my fork suspended midair. Then I gave myself a mental shake. The view scared me, but I reminded myself of Sam’s words. I had nothing to fear.

  “Do they stay like that all the time?”

  He didn’t answer but continued to eat, slowly clearing his plate. I waited patiently, hoping he’d give me some type of response. This was the second occasion we’d spent time together without his fur since he’d arrived. I knew so little about him and wondered if this was a sign he was ready to start talking to me.

  When he finished, he moved to the sink and ran the water. I wasn’t ready to give up. I followed him, leaned against the counter, and studied the little bit of his face I could see.

  “Is this something you don’t want to talk about?”

  He shrugged. Okay, not a closed topic...and apparently he wasn’t yet ready to speak.

  “Is it something I need to guess or can you explain it to me?” I felt like I was playing twenty questions.

  He turned to consider me for a moment then went back to washing his plate and fork. Taking the hint, I cleaned up my place while he moved to wipe the stove. I washed and dried my plate and tried to figure out what to ask next. Obviously only yes and no questions even though he hadn’t answered when I asked whether his teeth stayed like that all the time. Perhaps asking about them embarrassed him.

  When he returned to the sink, I briefly thought of letting the subject drop, but then he dropped the washcloth into the sink and turned to me. He crossed his arms, leaned against the counter, and watched me. Not just looking at me, but studying me...all of me...as if he weighed a decision. I couldn’t help but return his stare.

  We stood just a few inches apart. The close proximity brought the corded muscles under his snug t-shirt to my attention. I tried not to notice. He was downright drool worthy. I considered reaching out to touch him, just to see how he felt without fur. But his possible reaction stopped me. Would he take it as a sign of acceptance? Of interest? I’d meant what I’d said to Rachel. Clay didn’t act like other guys. I didn’t want to push my luck.

  With a sigh, he uncrossed his arms and leaned forward. His movement shot a wave of panic straight through me, and I froze. Had he caught me eyeing him? Did he think that meant I wanted him to try to kiss me? I didn’t know what to do.

  His nostrils flared. He slowly shook his head and pulled back, and I knew he had smelled my fear. He didn’t completely move away, just distanced
himself enough so that I could breathe and think and not freak out. I caught the glint of his eyes behind his long hair. Calm. Patient. So this wasn’t about a kiss. But then what was he trying to do?

  “You’re trying to explain the teeth, right?” I sounded pathetic, like a child who needed reassurance. I tried not to fidget on top of that.

  He gave me the reassurance I needed in one of his rare nods.

  Okay. No kissing. Just him moving closer. He slept at the foot of my bed every night. That was pretty close—right on my feet—and no big deal. But he had fur on when he did that. Now he looked...

  I eyed him again. My stomach did a funny flip. Maybe my fear wasn’t about his reaction, but mine. I was afraid I’d forget myself. I needed his control. I took a deep breath.

  “It’s okay then. Go ahead, explain. I’ll behave,” I promised quietly. I saw his mustache twitch with a quick smile. The canines explained some of the facial hair, but the full-bearded, crazy-man look seemed overkill.

  After a slight hesitation, he leaned forward again while keeping his hands loose at his sides. I pushed back the fear and held still. He didn’t stop his slow approach until his whiskers tickled the side of my neck and collarbone. There he paused and inhaled deeply.

  As soon as he inhaled, I knew what he was doing, and although I didn’t move, fear blossomed. Heart pounding, eyes wide, I waited for him to finish scenting me as a werewolf would a potential Mate, not a distant inhale, but an up-close sample of my scent, infinitely more potent. His warm exhale sent goose bumps skittering over my arms. I braced myself, anticipating some type of slip in his highly-praised control. He leisurely inhaled once more then lifted his head, exhaling as he went.

  With his face only inches from mine, he opened his mouth to display his teeth again. The canines had grown even more pronounced, the surrounding gums swollen from their thickness.

  I didn’t know what to say. He had canines when in his human form because of me.

  “So, when you’re around me, they’re worse? I guess that means they’re like that all the time.”

  He shrugged and casually took a step back. I was unsure what the shrug meant.

  We both heard a car pull into the driveway, and I knew questioning him further would have to wait. I remembered the new clothes still on the bathroom floor and moved away from him.

  “I gotta move your clothes. I’ll be right back.”

  When I returned, Rachel was kneeling, petting Clay-the-dog. She asked me why we had a man’s clothes on the kitchen chair. Clay impassively met my gaze. Darn him. Why hadn’t he just stayed Clay-the-man?

  “Clay stopped by and fixed the sink. He figured he would leave a change of clothes because of last night,” I lied. Thankfully, Rachel focused on the fixed plumbing rather than the fact I had a man leaving clothes behind at our house.

  “The sink’s working? And for free?”

  I shrugged, feeling very Clayish, and grabbed the clothes. As I walked from the room to put them away, she continued to talk to Clay using her normal nonsense babble. He was such a good boy and so handsome. Did I treat him well while she was gone? Did he want a treat? I sniggered, put the clothes away, then sat on the couch and left Clay to his torture.

  Done with her affectionate praise, she released him. He trotted from the kitchen and sat on the floor near me. She went to her room to change, leaving her door open so she could talk.

  “I just heard the weather report, and we’re going to get a cold snap this week. Frost. With past roommates, we always tried to make it to November first before turning on the heat.”

  “That’s fine by me,” I answered.

  "Even though the landlord replaced the windows, air still somehow gets in. They’re better than they were and seemed to help the AC run less. But if Clay knows anything about weatherproofing, maybe that’ll help us save even more on the heating bill.”

  I looked at Clay. “Know how to weatherproof a house?” I whispered.

  “What?” Rachel asked from her room.

  “Nothing, just talking to Clay.”