“I thought you needed help,” she got out between laughing. “I’m sorry. I just—I don’t know what I thought I would do, but I didn’t hear anything like banging and crashing, so I was worried you were hurt.”

His female lifted her head and indicated her fully clothed body. “I put everything back on, went into the bathroom—I was so nervous, I couldn’t calm myself to dematerialize. I threw up the sash, jumped, and then panicked in midair that the snow wasn’t going to be enough of a cushion. Good thing I managed to get myself turned around or I would have landed on my face—”

Lights came on in the yard next door, and a man in boxers and a flannel robe opened his own slider and piff’d out into the fluffy snow on his own deck.

“You okay over there?” he said.

Behind him, inside his kitchen, a dog the size of a throw cushion was barking in a series of high-alarm, high-register yaps that made Trez question how long that glass slider was going to survive without shattering.

“We’re fine,” Trez’s female said with a grin. “But thanks for asking.”

As the human looked suspicious and opened his mouth—no doubt to ask if 9-1-1 needed to be called—Trez lost his patience with everything and everyone. Reaching into the man’s mind, he threw a patch on the memories of anything strange-noise, strange-sight related, flipped a bunch of switches relegating everything to misinterpretation, and sent Tony Soprano back into his two-story with his little dog and whatever wife was waiting for him upstairs in their bed.

“I hate the suburbs,” Trez muttered as he got up and held his hand to his female. “I really do.”

She accepted his help and brushed the snow off the seat of her pants. “Well, maybe you could move? Although this is a great house.”

With a grunt, he checked out her mobility. “Are you sure you’re okay? Do we need a doctor?”

Batting a hand, she brushed the concern aside. “Oh, God, I’m so perfectly fine. I’ve been jumping out of windows into snow forever.”

“You have?”

“Before my transition, I used to sneak out of the second story of my house with my brother during the days while our parents—” She stopped herself. Put her hands on her hips. Made like she was looking around. “Well, anyway. I’ve done this before.”

She didn’t want him to see her expression. Not when she talked about her family, at any rate.

“Come on,” he said with exhaustion. “Let’s get inside where it’s warm.”

As they walked back across the deck, Trez couldn’t shake the feeling that the mood had been broken.

And he didn’t know how to get it back.

* * *

Therese entered the house feeling foolish and a little sad. As she stomped her boots on the mat just inside the slider, she hated thinking about her brother and all the good times they’d had together—so to escape all that, she replayed her brilliant, second-story-bathroom-window escape plan… and started laughing again. Ducking her head and trying to pull it together, she went over and stood in front of four carefully folded Hannaford paper bags—

“Wait,” she said. “Groceries? That was who was at the door?”

She had jumped for a food delivery? He’d gone down those stairs all 007… for a food delivery?

“Yeah,” Trez said as he shut the slider.

Clapping a hand over her mouth, the absurdity of it all struck her bell so hard, she nearly snorted. And as she vowed to stop—because he was clearly not in a good mood—she really wished she was a good giggler, one of those females who managed to express oh-that’s-funny in a melodic, pretty way. But nope. Not even close. She was a grunter. A chortler. A water buffalo crossed with an army tank backfiring.

Reeeeeal lovely stuff.

And given that Trez didn’t seem amused as he shut the slider and double-checked its lock, she was even more determined than usual to put a cap on it. But dayum. Ever since last night, she felt like her life was in a blender, everything flying too fast and out of control, whirling around, whizzing by, sizzling along. And considering that she had just gotten 95 percent naked in front of him, he’d outed a gun, and she’d ended up jumping out of a house into a snowbank?

All over someone delivering a grub haul?

Locking her molars, she told herself to grow up—

The noise that ascended her throat was nothing she could keep down, and Trez looked over sharply. Like he was worried she’d thrown a pulmonary embolism.

“I am so sorry,” she mumbled, “but this is too funny.”

“Yes, it is.” He smiled, but he lost the lift to his lips as he turned away. “Hey, would you like to eat something?”

Therese watched him open the refrigerator and bend down to look inside. When he stayed there, she knew he wasn’t checking out all the stuff in there. His eyes had nothing but a liter of skim milk, a thing of unsalted butter, and a butcher’s wrap of some kind of meat or poultry to regard.

“Trez,” she said, growing serious. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He closed the door and went over to the cupboard. “Oh, look. Raisin Bran.”

Therese took off her parka and went across to him. Putting her hand on his arm, she waited until his eyes finally swung in her direction.

“Talk to me.”

He shut the cupboard and stepped back, out of reach. His expression was so intense, she was worried he was going to leave or something—or tell her to go. And sure enough, he started to pace back forth.

“Listen,” she said, “if you want me to give you some privacy, just tell me. But if I stay, we’re going to talk whatever this is out. I’m not going stand around in this silence all night.”

Trez stopped and looked over, surprise flaring. Then he cursed. “I’m sorry. I think all the drama is just getting to me, and that has nothing to do with you. And no, I don’t want you to go.”

“Well, think of it this way. At least you’ve put your gun away for the last five minutes.” When he chuckled a little, she took that as a good sign and smiled at him. “I’m hungry. How about you?”

“I ate at the club when two of my bouncers got pizza. Would you like anything?”

“I will take some of that cereal, if you don’t mind.”

“Let me wait on you.”

Therese had the sense that he needed something to do, so she parked it at the little table. And as he got her a bowl and a spoon, the unopened box of cereal, and the milk, she liked watching him move. His body was so strong and heavy, but he was light on his feet, not cumbersome and clunky.

Now, if she could just get him to talk to her about what was really on his mind?

Because, no offense, he wasn’t worried about the drama. That was just an excuse to hide behind.

When he sat down across from her, she popped open the box and poured herself a good two servings’ worth. Then she glanced around, got to her feet, and went over to the sink. There was a roll of paper towels on a stand by the faucet and she pulled a section free. Back at the table, she smoothed the square flat.

“Okay, I know this is weird,” she said. “But it is what it is.”

As Trez cocked his head to one side, she started to pick raisins out of the bowl and put them on the paper towel. Using the spoon to help, she sifted through the flakes, making careful assessments.

“Can I ask you what you’re doing?”

Therese glanced up. “One raisin per spoonful. That’s the correct balance, not too sweet, not so bran-y. They overdo it with the dried fruit.”

“I guess I’ve never thought about it like that.”

“Cereal is serious business, Trez.” She wagged her spoon. “It’s the same thing with sundaes. You need to get the right fudge-to-ice-cream combination per spoon. It’s about each delivery to the mouth.”

“What about whip cream?”

“On a sundae?” As he nodded, Therese recoiled at the mere thought. “No, no, no. No nuts, no whip cream, no cherry. That’s all a distraction. It’s important to focus your taste buds.”

“And pizza?”

“Cheese only, heavy crust, light sauce.”

“Sandwiches.”

Cracking the top on the milk, she poured a proper level. “Two slices of meat, no cheese, light on the mayo.”

“No lettuce or tomato?”

“See also nuts, whip cream, and cherries.”

“Unnecessary.”

“Yup.” She lifted a spoonful out of the milk. “See? Perfect proportion. And you need to get it set before you moo-juice the stuff. Otherwise things get messy.”

Trez eased back in his chair. “You’re very precise about your food.”

She thought about her crap apartment where everything had its place. Her room back home. Her purse, her clothes, her shoes.

“Pretty much about everything, actually. It’s the engineer in me.” As his eyebrows went up again, she nodded. “I have a master’s in civil engineering. Online school obviously. I was hoping—well, it doesn’t matter now.”

“You were hoping what?”

Therese moved the cereal around with her spoon. “It turns out that there are not a lot of jobs for vampires who want to build public works.”

“I’ve never considered what civil engineers do.”

“Bridges, tunnels, maintenance of natural and built environments. Large-scale stuff. When I was little, I loved to work in the dirt. I was always building things. My father…” As she let that drift, she rubbed the center of her chest and changed the subject. “Just so we’re clear, I am not going to apologize to anyone for being a waitress. Work is work. You do everything the best you can, and it doesn’t matter what it is.”

Reaching for the milk, she tipped the carton over the bowl. “Milk percentage is off,” she explained as she felt him stare at her.

Like he’d never seen her before.