Page 47 of The Troll’s Summer Flame

I may be a troll. I may be ugly to most humans. But to Andrea, I am comfort. I am safety.

It’s a miracle the bed can support my weight and the weight of my three-ton ego, too.

“Hm? Gordon?”

“Right here.” Make that four-ton ego. The first word Andrea says upon waking is my name. She blinks up at me and smiles.

“You stayed.”

“Yes. I’m going to stay until you’re better.”

“You’re not in a sheet anymore,” Andrea says, sitting up on one elbow and rubbing her eyes.

I’m not. I’m in my freshly laundered t-shirt and boxers. “This seemed more suitable.”

Andrea gasps and pulls down her nightgown over her bare leg, blushing. “Uh, yes. Probably.”

“I’m going to carry you to the bathroom, then to the couch,” I say, because I’ve been planning how I can be the best possible boyfriend-slash-caregiver for hours. “I’ll check your burns, then I’m going to make breakfast.”

“Oh. Okay.” Andrea blinks in surprise.

“Once you’re settled on the couch with Chopin, some books, juice, and the remote, I’m going to go to my place and the station, and then I’ll be back. Will you be okay for two hours? It might take less, or a little more, depending on if the captain has questions for me about my report.”

Andrea nods, eyes wide. “I can take care of myself, though, honestly.”

“Oh. Should I... Do you want me to go?” I ask.

“Absolutely not. I’m just in shock. In the best kind of shock.” Andrea squeals when I rise and scoop her up. Her arms wrap right around my neck, and she pecks my lips. “Miss Flores gives you an A+ in boyfriending.”

I beam. I’m a boyfriend. I take care of this beautiful human, and she cares for me in ways I never knew could exist, with simple touches, inviting smiles, and so much warmth in her eyes.

I’m not sure if romance and kissing are only things for night and for dates, but I take the chance and kiss her, my tusks on her cheeks, and my lips on hers, sinking into a happy dream where this happens every morning.

And Andrea kisses me back. “I hope it takes less than two hours,” she whispers.

That little whisper and the look she gives me? My ears heard them, but they seem to have burrowed right into a dormant place inside my brain, too. The place where carnal desires live. “I’ll hurry.”

“Well. You couldn’t let the summer pass without a little ruckus, huh?” Sunderland is there at the station, a worried frown on his face. “Stray spark?”

“No. It was internal. Inside the shed. Something was burnt in there, and some smoldering embers ignited the gasoline kept in the shed.” I don’t mention the claw marks. I’ll tell Alban and some of the other supernaturally conversant volunteers about them.

“Accident or arson?”

“I’m not sure. I’ll investigate.”

“Heard you had a narrow escape. A mercy you were blown clear.”

Yes, that would be the spin on it. Blown clear. Not turned to stone. “Yep. Mercy.”

“Hear Miss Flores thought you bit the dust and she was sobbing like her heart was broken. Think you made an impact there, son.”

I nod, swallowing hard. He called me son. Andrea called me boyfriend. Chopin—well, Chopin didn’t call me anything, but Andrea says when cats rub their cheeks on you, they’ve marked you as theirs.

Sunderland’s hand is on my shoulder now, and he lets out a sigh. “Don’t take risks investigating, and don’t push yourself. You should take a few days off. You have more vacation time than the entire rest of the department put together. Take three days and spoil your ladyfriend. You, uh... She okay? I heard she passed out.”

“It wasn’t smoke inhalation, it was shock. She’s all right. I need to get back there. Her feet are blistered. Not badly, but bad enough that it’ll hurt when she walks. I left her on the couch with juice, her cat, and the remote. Oh, and her Kindle.” I can’t help smiling. “She loves to read, too.”

Books weren’t allowed in our house.