“Deal.” My pulse was just a shade faster as I opened the door and preceded him in. The sound of slow jazz met us, drifting up from the living room. Ivy was home, and I hoped she had already been out and back from her twice-weekly fix. A soulfully sung “Lilac Wine” made a soft mood, accentuated by the darkness of the sanctuary.

I shuffled off Kisten’s coat, the sound of the silk lining a soft hush as it slid from me. The sanctuary was dim and silent, the pixies snug in my desk though they ought to have been up by now. Wanting to preserve the mood, I slipped off my boots while Kisten hung his coat beside the one he had let me borrow.

“Come on back,” I whispered, not wanting to wake the pixies. Kisten’s smile was soft as he followed me into the kitchen. We were quiet, but I knew Ivy had heard us when she turned the music down a shade. Tossing my clutch purse to my side of the table, I felt like someone else as I padded in my stocking feet to the fridge for the coffee. I caught sight of my reflection in the window. If you ignored the snow stains and falling hair, I didn’t look too bad.

“I’ll get the coffee,” I said, searching the fridge as the sound of tinkling water intruded on the jazz. Grounds in hand, I turned to find him looking relaxed and comfortable in his pin-striped suit as he stood at the sink and cleaned the new coffee carafe. His mind was entirely on his task, seemingly unaware that I was in the same room while he threw out the old grounds and pulled a filter from the cupboard with a smooth, unthinking motion.

After an entire four hours with him without one flirting comment or sexual/blood innuendo, I felt comfortable. I hadn’t known he could be like this: normal. I watched him move, seeing him with his thoughts on nothing. I liked what I saw, and I wondered what it would be like to be this way all the time.

As if feeling my eyes on him, Kisten turned. “What?” he asked, smiling.

“Nothing.” I glanced at the black hallway. “I want to check on Ivy.”

Kisten’s lips parted to show a glimpse of teeth as his smile widened. “Okay.”

Not sure why that seemed to please him, I gave him a last, high-eyebrow look and headed into the candlelit living room. Ivy was sprawled across her cushy suede chair, her head on one arm, her legs draped over the other. Her brown eyes flicked to mine as I entered, taking in the smooth, elegant lines of my clothes all the way to my feet in their nylons.

“You’ve got snow all over you,” she said, her expression and position unchanging.

“I, uh, slipped,” I lied, and she accepted that, taking my nervousness as embarrassment. “Why are the pixies still asleep?”

She snorted—sitting up to put her feet on the floor—and I sat on the matching couch across from her with the coffee table between us. “Jenks kept them up after you left so they wouldn’t be awake when you got home.”