After several long moments, she nodded. “All right, then. Which way is your apartment?”

“That way.”

Irene started walking west and Van called after her, “Irene?” She turned around and looked at him. He held his hand out and she stared at it for several more long seconds. He could almost see her brain sifting through the appropriate responses. Finally, she reached out and placed her hand in his.

Van interlaced their fingers and headed home with Irene right next to him.

And he’d never been happier.

Seven

“Do you actually need all this room or is this the only place you could find where you could fit your head?”

Irene accepted the glass of wine Van handed her.

“My, my, we certainly are rolling with the jokes this evening.”

She shrugged. “I guess. I find myself surprisingly comfortable around you. Well . . . as comfortable as I can be with anyone remotely human. And you are somewhat remotely human.”

“Such compliments.” He took her hand, and it felt strange to her to not automatically want to pull it away again.

Van led her through the apartment. Apparently he owned it and the entire building. The furniture was tasteful but useful. She actually felt like she could sit on the couch. Each room was tidy and well kept. But his kitchen . . . she’d never seen such a sparkling kitchen outside of a cleaning-fluid ad.

“This is very . . . clean.”

“It’s the kitchen. Of course it’s clean. Would you prefer to think your food is coming from some place with roaches?”

“No. But this does seem to be above and beyond the standard clean.”

“Not at all.” Van turned to take a beer from the refrigerator.

With him facing away from her, Irene shifted the big knife block on the counter slightly to the left.

“I grew up around chefs,” he continued, turning back around and immediately shifting the knife block back to its original position. He probably didn’t even realize he’d done it. “You always keep your kitchen clean or you hear about it. And my uncles can be mean. Usually fangs are involved.”

Irene nodded, surprisingly enthused to find a little obsessive-compulsive behavior in the always-controlled but perpetually laid-back wolf.

He stared at her and Irene didn’t know what to make of it. To get things moving she said, “So are we going to do this or what?”

She already had the straps of her gown halfway off her shoulders when he left his unopened beer on the pristine counter and grabbed her hands.

“Hey, hey. What’s the rush?”

Irene sighed in annoyance. “Look, I’ve got responsibilities. Things to do. I’m not some rich kid who can do whatever I want. In other words, I need to get this done and then get back to work.”

“Are lives being lost because you’re spending some time in my kitchen?”

“Lives? Of course not, but—”

“Then relax, Irene.”

Irene realized he had a point and frowned in concentration as she tried to force herself to relax.

Van Holtz released her. “Is that you relaxing?”

She growled. “If you keep talking I won’t be able to. I need to focus to get myself to relax. Focusing is the key.”

“All right. That’s it.” Van Holtz grabbed her hand and dragged her out of the room.

“Where are we going?”

He didn’t answer but dragged her into a bedroom. She briefly thought, Oh, good. But then he kept walking into a bathroom that could have housed the entire Foreign Legion. He released her and closed the bathroom door.

Irene shrugged. “A shower? Do I not smell fresh?”

Van Holtz snorted a laugh. “Doc, you smell wonderful.”

“Then why are we in your bathroom?”

He went over to the obscenely large tub that looked more like a pool and turned on the water. It began to fill up quickly. “I thought we’d take a bath.”

“A bath? What am I, eight? Will there be bubbles, too?”

He snapped his fingers. “Good call, doc.” He walked over to one of the cabinets and popped open the doors. “One of my cousins from Germany stayed here about six months ago and she has three daughters. I think they left . . . yes!” He turned around, holding a plastic bottle. “Pink bubbles.”

“I don’t understand. Is this a prelude to sex?”

“Everything with me is a prelude to sex,” he muttered, checking the temperature of the water before pouring in the entire contents of the bottle. “But this isn’t only about sex. I’ve decided.”

She didn’t like the sound of that. “Decided what?”

“That you’re staying the weekend.”

“I haven’t agreed to that and why would I?”

Van Holtz stood and walked over to her. “Because you and I are going to hang out. We’re going to watch TV, eat delicious food that I make, maybe go shopping for shit we don’t need, and neither one of us is going to do any work of any kind.”

“Again . . . why would I do that?”

“Because we’re going to spend the weekend getting to know each other.”

“I thought we did know each other. And we’d come to the conclusion that we were friends . . . only.”

“We are friends. And friends hang out doing nothing.”

“Forget it.” Irene headed toward the door. “I’ve got a ton of lab work waiting for me and—”