Dexter hooked his arm around her waist, giving her what support he could without invading her sense of self. She seemed to be a strong woman, and he thought she might object wholly if he did anything silly like attempt to carry her. Which he could have done with no problems.
"They don't like me either." Nor did animals, but he didn't say that. Instead, he walked slowly beside her, thinking about his apartment and willing it to be a shorter distance than it would have been normally. He wanted the streets and buildings to move so that they could get there sooner.
"A picnic? I'm guessing you've got some treats in your basket then. I have some food." He always had food. That was an understatement. "We can work something out when I've fixed you up."
There was just something about her, wasn't there? Something beyond the love he was feeling. She was dark. Like him. She seemed to enjoy that part of him. He liked that. Even if he hadn't been having these feelings, he would have liked that very much.