“Still working,” I said, trying not to think about skull cups. “Can you open tomorrow?”
“Yes,” he said, and hung up.
Adam called his security company and told them he’d be gone for a week, though available in an emergency. I thought about that for a minute and called Zee back.
“Can you handle the shop this week?” I asked, expecting the same yes and click of a disconnect.
“It is bad, then,” said Zee instead.
“Probably,” I told him. “Signs point to all hell is about to break loose.”
Zee snorted. “Situation normal, you mean,” he said, echoing his son’s earlier observation. “Ah, well. At least I can count upon not being bored in the near future.” He disconnected.
I was pretty sure that meant he was good to run the shop for the week.
“Zee is right. This is becoming a habit.” Adam frowned. “Maybe we should make arrangements for the new normal. Would you object to moving Sherwood into your old house? Without Joel and Aiden, it isn’t safe to leave Jesse home alone, and it’s not fair to expect Tad to play bodyguard more than he already does.”
My house, a single-wide manufactured home that had replaced the one that burned to the ground, shared a back fence （now partially a wall, thanks to Tilly） with Adam’s house, even though they were more than a football field apart because they both were on acreage. My house had sat empty since Gabriel, my previous assistant, had left for college.
The house next to it was empty, too, having been the scene of a pair of brutal murders, though as of last Friday, there was a hopeful For Sale sign on it. I wondered if it was still haunted.
My house was. Which was one of the reasons it was empty. The other one was that though the door to Underhill on our back fence allowed Tilly access to our house, it was also on the back fence of my house. I wasn’t willing to rent the place to someone who couldn’t protect themselves from Tilly, and that somewhat restricted the pool of renters.
“If Sherwood is willing,” I said. Sherwood could probably protect himself better than we could protect ourselves. “He’s just renting the place he’s living in, right?”
“Your house would be an upgrade,” Adam said. “But living that close might push us to the fight that we just narrowly avoided. I’ll ask and trust his judgment.”
“It’s a little like finding out King Arthur has been a member of the pack in disguise,” I said.
“He’s not King Arthur,” Adam said with a growl in his voice.
“Probably not,” I agreed in a hushed voice. Maybe a better person would have stopped when faced with that growl instead of being inspired to push their luck a little further. “But it’s exciting. Maybe he knew King Arthur. Or Robin Hood.” I sighed happily. “All of the history he has packed in his head.”
“I am not jealous,” Adam informed me. “I know when I’m being teased.”
I laughed and turned to rest my forehead against his shoulder. “Do you suppose he will give me an autograph?”
“I’ll autograph you,” Adam murmured.
“Only if I get to autograph you, too,” I purred happily. Flirting didn’t have to make much sense. “Werewolves are hard to tattoo, so I’ll use Jesse’s glitter pens. Do you want hot pink or baby blue?”
He laughed because he thought I was joking. He was probably right, though I might have done it if Jesse’s mom, Adam’s ex-wife, hadn’t finally moved back to Eugene. Though I doubted that she’d have paid attention even if I’d scrawled Mine in glow-in-the-dark lettering across Adam’s forehead, there had been days it would have made me feel better.
“What’s wrong?” Adam asked.
I lifted my head. “Nothing, why?”
“You quit laughing.”
“I love you,” I told him.
“I love you, too,” he answered. “Why did that make you quit laughing?”
“We were talking about jealousy,” I said. “And marking territory. You’re probably lucky Christy finally moved when she did, or you might have ended up with my name written across your face in Sharpie.”
He grabbed my hand. “Your name is written across my heart,” he said, because he could say things like that and have them sound serious. When I tried, I sounded like someone trying out for a Hallmark movie.
I kissed his shoulder. “You just don’t want to wake up with Sharpie on your face.”
“It would look unprofessional,” he agreed.