* * * *
The rest of the weekend passed like the one before, with studying and turning pages for Clay-the-dog. Although I still wanted to know about his pronounced teeth in man-form, I couldn’t come up with any reason to ask him to shift again. When I tried asking him about his teeth while he wore his fur, he just walked away from me. I couldn’t tell if he did that because he was moody or just bored with my conversation.
Monday night, I got home and Clay stood in the kitchen cooking dinner for two. I had to suppress the happy-dance I wanted to do and, instead, nonchalantly walked by him. A note on the table from Rachel explained she had gone out with Peter and would be back late. The note stressed alone.
Since Clay’s last appearance, I’d thought of several questions to ask him—starting with his teeth—and hoped he wouldn’t get annoyed and go fur on me again. I decided to ease him into my agenda.
“Wow, I didn’t know you cooked. It smells great.” I set my messenger bag on a chair and hovered behind him, watching him work.
He pulled baked potatoes from the oven. To the side, two plates waited with steaming chicken breasts. Seeing dinner almost ready, I grabbed flatware for us and sat down.
“So, other than cooking, how did you keep yourself busy today?”
He set a plate in front of me and sat down. He pointed to the last batch of books I’d brought home that he had piled neatly on the table between us.
“You read them all already?”
He nodded.
“That’s a lot to read in just five days. Are you skipping chapters?” I teased.
He glanced up at me then back down at his food. Maybe I needed to work on my teasing. I supposed smiling would have helped.
“So, about the beard...are your teeth ready to play nice?” That got an actual laugh from him. A short one, but still very nice.
“Does that mean we can trim your beard?” I asked, excited by the prospect. The scissors would also make a beeline for his hair. How could I read his face when he kept it so hidden? Since he didn’t actually speak, it hindered our communication even further.
He shook his head, and my face fell. I looked back down at my plate, feeling silly for the stab of disappointment because I wouldn’t get to see more of his face tonight. Lost in my own thoughts, it took me a second to realize he’d stopped eating. He leaned back in his chair and studied me.
Pretending not to notice, I gave him a slight smile and, for a change, I kept my thoughts to myself.
“This tastes great. Thank you for cooking. Do you have a favorite food? I can put it on the next shopping list.”
He watched me for another minute as I ate. I tucked away my disappointment and annoyance, and tried not to let my face show anything I felt. I knew neither emotion did me any good, and both made it hard to enjoy the food. I pushed a few bites around on my plate before he finally uncrossed his arms and picked his fork back up to start eating again.
“Actually, let’s keep a shopping list on my dresser. When you think of something, you can add to it so I know what to get without guessing.” Maybe writing fell into the talking category, and I’d be out of luck there, too.
I ate the majority of the food on my plate then brought it to the sink. Not wanting to risk him going back to his fur just yet, I grabbed my messenger bag and sat at the table to work on homework while he finished his meal. I usually did homework the same day and left the bigger projects and in-depth studying for the weekend, if needed.
“If you want, when you’re done, we can watch a movie,” I said.
He shrugged and moved to clean up his plate. I hopped up to help, but he motioned me back to the table, pointing to the open book. I sat and read while listening to him move about the kitchen.
As soon as he washed the stove, I packed up my homework for the night. He wiped down the table, and I hovered with my bag over my shoulder. I did not want to put it away and give him the opportunity to change again. When he had everything clean and the dishrag rinsed, he walked into the living room. I followed him and sat on the couch.
He bent to the cabinet below the TV and picked the movie for the night. A suspense.
“If I scream again when Rachel comes home, no laughing,” I said as I curled on the couch and waited for him to start the movie.
A strong wind blew outside, and the curtains moved slightly. Considering where I lived, it seemed pointless to dread the cold, but I did. Soon I would probably start to consider wearing snow pants just to walk to the car. I gave the fluttering curtain one last glare and turned my attention to the movie as Clay settled next to me.
This time, I didn’t feel so nervous and actually concentrated on the movie. Clay never twitched, but I jumped twice within the first ten minutes.
The temperature in the room dropped to the point that I ran to get a hoodie during a suspenseful scene. Thankfully, Clay didn’t pause the movie for me.
By the time the movie ended, the wind really howled outside. I sat on my fingers in an effort to warm them and knew it would be a long wait until the first of November.
“Hey, Clay. Do you like cookies?” I sprang from the couch and moved toward the kitchen. I could bake cookies to heat the house, and Rachel couldn’t scold me for turning on the heat.
I rummaged through the cupboard, and I saw we didn’t have any of the main ingredients. No sugar of any kind or flour.
“Shoot,” I grumbled.
I had splurged and bought Clay clothes, something I considered a necessity. Along with many of the other unplanned expenses, it set me behind in my budget. Keeping the heat off longer would help make some of it up. But that meant no frivolous spending, not even for ingredients to bake cookies to warm the house.
I closed the doors and turned to tell Clay the disappointing news. Instead of staying in the living room as I’d thought, he stood right behind me. All that came out was a strangled “gah.” He flashed a smile so wide that I saw teeth and couldn’t help but smile back.
“Har-har. I told you no suspense movies. Life is scary enough without them. Oh, and false alarm on the cookies. We’re missing some main ingredients.”
He picked up my car keys and dangled them in front of me.
“It’s tempting, but unless I want to get a part-time job, I can’t afford to keep spending the money I’ve saved. I’ve got to stick to the budget so it lasts through till spring. If we can manage to keep the heat off until November, I should have cookie money for Christmas. That’s when cookies are best, anyhow. I’ll just need to start wearing more clothes inside.”
I took the keys from him and put them back in the dish on the counter. When I turned, Clay wasn’t looking at me, but off to the side. I tried to follow his gaze, but he didn’t seem to be looking at anything. Shrugging, I left him to his own thoughts.
“I think I’m going to bed.” I almost asked if he would come with, but didn’t know how to word it so I would be asking Clay-the-dog not Clay-the-man. As a result, I went to my room alone.
Not long after, I heard him enter; and I wondered what I’d do if he tried to climb into bed with me as a man. I anxiously listened to the rustle of his clothes as he removed them. The quick pounce on the end of the bed told me Clay had once again become my personal foot warmer.