[ A week ago, she'd have said she literally couldn't even imagine Little chasing her. Or anyone, really. Maybe not even anything. But then he did actually follow her all the way out to Lakeside, and if that wasn't exactly chasing it also wasn't anything the hell like what she'd have expected. She'd been sure he'd stay here in Milton, keeping a close and anxious eye on Kate and Irving and Crozier and the others and as far as he could get from the ghostly Old Bear that was so like the thing Fitzjames told her about—
And then he'd gone ahead and done the unexpected. Surprised her, again, the way he's done over and over and over ever since the very first day they met. ]
Dating isn't my problem.
[ Well, it might be now, but in a different kind of way than Konstantin means, she's pretty sure. (Does she really have to write him a letter, spell it all out? It's bad enough saying these things out loud where he can hear them, where she can hear herself saying them; writing them down in ink has a feeling of finality to it that she's sure she doesn't like.)
Wynonna blows on the little flame, coaxing it into life, then straightens and goes past her strange new companion to head into the kitchen. She reaches up for a bottle on a shelf, her shirt riding up over her waist as she stretches, and grabs two glasses while she's at it. ]
Relationships are usually where I choke. You know—
[ She spins the cap off the bottle and dollops some amber liquid into one of the tumblers, her eyebrows lifting though her glance stays on the pouring liquor. ]
— the making plans, the monogamy, the finally telling them your real name because they accidentally found your passport in your stuff and realized 'Tawny Kitaen' is actually a totally different person.
[ Except the problem is: what she really hates is the moment when she — she, Wynonna, the real Wynonna — can be seen for who she really is, and Edward can already do that. He's been able to do it all along, even before she'd given him a tipsy onceover while hanging out on his couch and decided he was actually pretty nice to look at. And talk to. And listen to. And hang out with.
She tips the bottle toward him, eyebrows pushing up again as she tips her head toward the empty glass in a silent question that's probably not so silent, all things considered: want some?
It was his idea, after all. ]
I just prefer to have a good exit strategy in place. Just in case.
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And then he'd gone ahead and done the unexpected. Surprised her, again, the way he's done over and over and over ever since the very first day they met. ]
Dating isn't my problem.
[ Well, it might be now, but in a different kind of way than Konstantin means, she's pretty sure. (Does she really have to write him a letter, spell it all out? It's bad enough saying these things out loud where he can hear them, where she can hear herself saying them; writing them down in ink has a feeling of finality to it that she's sure she doesn't like.)
Wynonna blows on the little flame, coaxing it into life, then straightens and goes past her strange new companion to head into the kitchen. She reaches up for a bottle on a shelf, her shirt riding up over her waist as she stretches, and grabs two glasses while she's at it. ]
Relationships are usually where I choke. You know—
[ She spins the cap off the bottle and dollops some amber liquid into one of the tumblers, her eyebrows lifting though her glance stays on the pouring liquor. ]
— the making plans, the monogamy, the finally telling them your real name because they accidentally found your passport in your stuff and realized 'Tawny Kitaen' is actually a totally different person.
[ Except the problem is: what she really hates is the moment when she — she, Wynonna, the real Wynonna — can be seen for who she really is, and Edward can already do that. He's been able to do it all along, even before she'd given him a tipsy onceover while hanging out on his couch and decided he was actually pretty nice to look at. And talk to. And listen to. And hang out with.
She tips the bottle toward him, eyebrows pushing up again as she tips her head toward the empty glass in a silent question that's probably not so silent, all things considered: want some?
It was his idea, after all. ]
I just prefer to have a good exit strategy in place. Just in case.