Besides the main living space, there were three other rooms, one of which appeared to be an office, and two that had beds. He chose the larger bedroom because of its convenient attached bath. He dumped their bags on the bed and went to take care of Kevin.
“If you feed him in the hall by the garage, the smell won’t permeate the house as much,” Chloe suggested.
“Good idea.”
“I should help you.”
“No.” A search of the kitchen yielded suitable bowls. One he filled with water and placed in the hall. More rummaging yielded the device that opened cans. He held his breath and pierced the top. His stomach roiled.
Kevin trotted into the kitchen and gazed at him expectantly. Apparently, he too had a sharp sense of smell—except he liked the odor. Still holding his breath, Rok shook the dog food into the bowl and rushed it into the hall. The alacrity with which the dog began to scarf it up caused bile to rise in his throat.
He dashed into the garage, out the big door into the night. He tossed the noxious can into a covered waste receptacle. Only then did he release his breath and draw in huge gasps of fresh, cleansing air. When his stomach quieted, he returned inside to find Kevin had made short work of the dog food. Only a faint lingering odor remained.
But in the kitchen, he found Chloe organizing the pantry! “You’re supposed to be resting!”
“I will. We haven’t eaten either. I figured I should separate the food, so you know what you can eat. Your stuff is on this shelf here.” She tapped an upper tier. “Mine’s on the lower level.”
There were two cans, a jar, and a longish slim box on his shelf, and six cans on hers. She picked up his jar and the box. “This is marinara sauce, and the box is spaghetti. If we both eat this, you won’t be subjected to any more meat odors tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll rustle up more food for you because peaches and pears won’t fill you up.”
“Thank you.” He appreciated her thoughtfulness.
“Could you find me two saucepans, please?”
“This is how you take it easy? You’re not a very good patient,” he said. “If I’m not mistaken, a concussion is when your brain bangs around inside your skull. And you were shot in the head. Sit. I’ll cook.”
“Do you know how?”
“You can direct me from over here.” He guided her to the table.
“You’re kind of bossy, aren’t you?” But he could hear her exhalation of relief as she sank into the chair.
The stove was simple to operate, and, with a few instructions from her, he had pasta boiling and sauce simmering. In no time, he brought the meal to the table.
“You take good care of me,” she said.
“I would like to,” he replied.
“We can take care of each other.”
“I like that even better.”
The spaghetti with marinara proved to be his new favorite Earth food, and he demolished a huge plate of it. She ate sparingly, and, before dinner was finished, her head began to nod, and her eyelids drooped.
“Why don’t you go to bed?” he suggested.
“After I take a bath. I feel grungy. I’ll help you clean up, first.”
“Chloe…”Good Zok, she’s stubborn.
“All right,” she conceded, a testament to her physical condition. She showed him a bottle of blue liquid under the sink and told him to use it to wash the dishes and shuffled toward the bedroom.
He was washing the marinara pot when he heard a shriek.
He raced to the bedroom and into the attached bath.
She gazed into the mirror, her expression horrified. “Why didn’t you tell me I was covered in dried blood! Oh, my god—you let me sit at the dinner table like this! You let me kiss you like this!”
He’d let her kiss him no matter how she looked. “There are a few bloody streaks, and your hair is a little matted, but it’s not bad.”
