ELEANOR
"I'm not doing this again."
Those were the first words I scribbled—well attempted to—the moment Dylan put the paper and pen in front of me.
That definitely didn’t work so I signed it.
"Yes, you are," he replied, dropping into the chair across from me.
"And before you give me a look like you're planning my murder—your handwriting yesterday wasn't that terrible."
I rolled my eyes, and pulled the blanket tighter around my shoulders. Not that bad meant my letters looked like drunken scribbles.
"Don't roll your eyes," he said, sliding the pen toward me. "Do you know how many wolves would die by having lessons spoon-fed to them by me?” he asked. A lot. Probably. Definitely."
I raised my eyebrows. Really? I signed.
"All right," he sighed dramatically. "Maybe not much. "Maybe not
