She pointed to a cabinet door.
“Where is the bread you baked?”
She laughed. “I didn’t bake any. I don’t have time to bake bread, so I buy it at the store.”
He frowned, but distracted by the smell of the food, he kept his mouth shut and his opinions to himself, for as Lucy said, just because you have an opinion doesn’t mean everyone wants to hear it.
She peeled off the covers and dumped the food onto the plates.
“It’s done. We can eat.”
He carried the plates to the table as Daisy opened the refrigerator, taking out a green jar. What an odd name for the box.
“Parmesan for our pasta.”
He watched as she took the bottle of ale and poured it into the clearest glass he’d ever seen. So thin and clear, Callan was afeared he’d crush the delicate vessel.
Daisy picked up an object with points that she used to eat the food. It was like a knife, but had four points. ’Twas a fork. He remembered the word from the meals at the church. He watched how she held her fork and ate her food.
The food ’twas delicious and spicy. Before he knew it, he’d cleaned his plate.
Daisy was watching him, half of her supper still on her plate.
“Here, you can have the rest of mine. I’m not that hungry.” She pushed the plate across the table to him, then slid the cheese over.
He dumped a mound of cheese on the pasta and meatballs, enjoying every bite.
Once they finished eating, she told him to relax while she rinsed off the mountain of dishes in the sink and put them into yet another box, a dishwasher. Once that was done, she turned to him.
“How about a glass of wine?”
He nodded. Callan sometimes liked wine if it had not turned. She poured two cups and handed him one.
The wine smelled of berries as he sniffed it before taking a sip.
“It doesna taste good.”
A laugh escaped as she took a sip, then wrinkled her nose.
“That is disgusting. My ex was a wine snob and left it behind. I don’t know if people actually really like wine or they just pretend they do.”
She poured it down the drain, then poured out the rest of the bottle as well.
“I’ll pick up some bubbly when we go out. It’s sweet and tickles your nose. You’ll like it.”
He wasna sure if he’d like a drink going up his nose but refrained from saying anything.
“Are you feeling better?”
He nodded, grateful the fates had put her in his path.
“I find I am verra weary.”
“It’s late, and also probably the pasta is making you sleepy.”
She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear.
“Do you want to take a shower before you go to sleep?”
