“It’s that one. Number sixty-five,” Cassandra directed. Samael turned into the spacious parking spot, stopping his wagon in front of a large storage cage that looked as though it was filled to the brim with boxes.
“Tell me that’s not yours,” he said, even though he already knew it was. This was the allocated parking spot for her apartment, and it made sense for the locker to be hers, too.
“Don’t be a chicken. It’s perfectly manageable.”
Her tone was serious, but her eyes were laughing with him. It had been a week since they’d cleared out his shed, a week full to the brim of Cassandra, and he’d had enough of her to know he could never have enough.
She was no walk in the park. She had a temper, and she was impatient. She loved a good debate, and she was competitive, as he’d discovered to
