Page 3 of Problematic

Sam wiped her palms on her apron and came around the counter. She bumped my hip with hers, annoying and affectionate.

“You are going to find yours,” she said. “I know it.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. I feel it. Right here.” She patted her chest. “My mate intuition is on fire.”

“Pretty sure that’s heartburn.”

“Shut up.” She rolled her eyes, smile tugging at her mouth. “Okay, since you’re in a mood, let’s play a game. If you could pick, what would you want?”

“For a mate?”

“Yes.”

I made a face. “You don’t pick your mate, Sam. That’s literally the point.”

“Hypothetically. Pretend the Fates are taking requests today.”

“They aren’t.”

“Liv.”

My name was a threat. I sighed.

“I don’t know,” I muttered.

“Liar. Everybody knows.”

The answer was so clear in my head it almost hurt. It’d been the same since I was a kid imagining this stuff in secret.

“Fine,” I said. “Someone quiet. Not broody quiet just . . . comfortable not talking all the time.”

Sam nodded, serious. “Mm-hm. What else?”

“Respectful,” I said. “Someone who doesn’t treat me like I’m broken because I’m powerless. Who doesn’t see me as . . . less.”

Her expression softened again. “You aren’t less.”

“Tell that to the clans. Half of them hear powerless and assume I should be grateful for an apron, a delivery route, and the privilege of entering through the service door.” I shrugged off the thought. “And caring, I guess. Gentle. Not the kind of demon people cross the street to avoid.”

She stared at me for a second, then snorted.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

“That was not a nothing face.”

She glanced toward the corner where Daniel sat, pretending to work and failing. When she looked back at me, there was mischief in her eyes.

“I’m just trying to picture you with some quiet, soft, respectful guy,” she said. “Like a librarian with good shoulders. It’s adorable.”

“Why does he have good shoulders?”

“Because you deserve good shoulders, shut up.”

I laughed, helpless. “You asked what I wanted.”