"See?" Elga grins triumphantly. "The man's starving. Good thing we came when we did."
I can't help but laugh at the way Darhg's cheeks darken with embarrassment. For someone so intimidating, he can be surprisingly adorable when he's flustered.
"You didn't have to do this," he says, but his tone has gentled considerably. I guess the fastest way to an ogre’s heart is through their stomach.
Duly noted.
"Of course we did," Jennifer replies, already moving toward the kitchen to unpack their supplies. "What are friends for?"
The next hour passes in a blur of warmth and easy conversation. We gather around Darhg's small kitchen table, which barely accommodates four people but somehow feels perfectly cozy. The coq-au-vin is absolutely divine with tender chicken falling off the bone in a rich wine sauce that tastes like it simmered for hours. The bread is crusty on the outside and pillowy soft inside, perfect for soaking up every drop of the incredible sauce.
For the first time in days, I feel like I can breathe properly. The oppressive tension that's been building between Darhg and me melts away in the face of Elga's boisterous energy and Jennifer's calm warmth. We talk about everything and nothing, from theweather to town gossip and funny stories from the flower shop. It’s fun and easy and I watch in fascination as Darhg loosens up, his shoulders relaxing and his eyes shining as he and Elga recount stories from their past, much to mine and Jennifer’s delight.
"So, what did you do before this?" Elga asks me around a bite of bread. "I mean, what's your big dream? What makes Rona Quinn tick when she's not being chased by tabloid vultures?"
The question catches me off guard. It's been so long since anyone asked me about my dreams, and I don’t even know what to say. What do I want, indeed? Does it even matter?
"Growing up, I wanted to be an artist," I admit, surprised by how easily the words come. "I even enrolled for a year in fine arts at Cornell, but…" I trail off, not sure how to explain the complicated mess of family expectations and practical concerns that led me to abandon my passion.
"But?" Jennifer prompts gently.
"But my mother convinced me it wasn't practical. That I needed something stable, something that would actually be suitable for an ambitious career. So I switched to business." I shrug, trying to make it sound casual. "It made sense at the time."
I glance at Darhg, expecting his usual neutral expression, but instead I find him watching me with something that looks like a frown. Maybe even anger.
"I've seen your notebook," he says quietly, his face smoothing and the frown disappearing. "You have real talent, Rona. Serious talent."
The unexpected compliment hits me like a physical force. My face burns with heat, pleasure and embarrassment warring in my chest. Coming from Darhg, who doesn't hand out praise lightly, those words mean everything.
"Thank you," I whisper, not trusting my voice to be steady.
Elga and Jennifer exchange a look that's loaded with meaning, and I get the distinct feeling they're communicating something I'm not privy to.
We go back to our lighthearted conversation and Elga and Darhg consume monstrous amounts of everything, down to a third plate of the delicious dessert. Ogres really do have a thing for food.
"Well," Elga announces after we've finished the apple crisp—and I mean finished. The entire plate is gone and it should have been enough for a family of six. "I have a surprise for our resident grump."
She reaches into her coat pocket and produces a worn baseball cap filled with folded pieces of paper. Darhg’s amber eyes follow her movement and his expression is nothing but complete and total panic.
I follow everything with an almost perverse trepidation.
"Charades!" she declares with obvious glee. "And let me tell you, nobody plays charades better than Darhg here."
Darhg's entire face transforms, his skin darkening to an alarming shade of yellow as he shakes his head vigorously.
"Absolutely not," he says firmly. "We are not playing charades."
"Oh, come on!" I chime in, delighted by this unexpected revelation. "I had no idea you were a charades champion."
"I'm not," he growls, but the way his ears are practically glowing suggests otherwise.
"He's being modest," Jennifer says with a gentle smile. "He used to be legendary at the town game nights when we were teenagers."
"That was a long time ago," Darhg mutters.
But Elga is having none of it. She starts a chant of "Charades! Charades!" that Jennifer and I immediately pick up, clapping our hands in rhythm until Darhg finally throws his hands up in defeat.
"Fine," he grumbles. "One round. Then you all leave me alone."
