Pfft. I was much younger then.
“The babies want fire-touched food,” Pax insisted.
I hoped when they hatched they’d accept milk for a few months.
The night air was cool and perfect for a shift and flight, but I wasn’t leaving home, so I’d do a partial shift. I walked into the middle of the yard, hoping no one was watching. I wasn’t going to sprout wings, so if anyone complained about the fire, I’d apologize and say we were roasting marshmallows and I didn’t keep an eye on the fire.
Pax was jiggling with excitement as I placed the metal tray on the grass, and my dragon was bouncing up and down. I allowed my throat to enlarge so my beast could channel fire, buthe insisted he needed his claws. I rolled my eyes because he just wanted to show off for Pax, and maybe to the babies too if they could hear him inside their shells.
My dragon breathed out a small flame, and I reminded him to just burn the edges. I preferred not having to make another trip to the store because the pickles were a pile of smoldering cinder.
I know what I’m doing.
The smell of charred garlic, chili, and vinegar filled the air, and Pax clapped.
I reversed the shift and checked the pickles before beckoning Pax to take a look. “How’s that?”
“Wow.” He flung his arms around my neck. “That’s just how I wanted them. Thank you, and tell your beast I love him.”
Awww, he loves me.
In the kitchen, Pax blew on the pickles, even though they weren’t hot enough to burn his mouth. I studied his face as he ate one. He closed his eyes and moaned. My dragon squeaked, sounding more like a mouse than a fiery reptile.
He doesn’t like it.
Wait,I told him.
“Oh my gods.”
I held my breath and so did my beast.
“Good?”
“So good. Oh my, so, so good.” He ate a second and a third. “I don’t enjoy pickles usually but these taste of heaven.” He cocked his head. “Nah, they taste of dragon’s breath.”
“Want me to make more?”
“Yes, please. Burn all the pickles.”
I winced at the thought of my mate eating a whole jar of pickles. “All?”
“That’s right.” He took the plate of pickles and lay on the sofa, moaning with each bite. “And when I’m done, I’ll start on the ice cream, and I haven’t even gotten to the chips yet.”
As I trudged outside with the rest of the pickles, I suspected I’d be doing this a lot when the babies were old enough to eat real food.
After we’d burned the rest of the pickles, my mate worked his way through them, then took a bite of ice cream and went back to the remaining pickles. He followed that by drowning the chips in hot sauce.
“What?” He wiped his mouth with a napkin.
“You're cute when you're eating charred pickles at three in the morning.”
He laughed and licked around his lips. “I’m a messy eater.”
“An adorable mess.”
He tossed a chip at me, and I caught it on my mouth. Ouch. That hot sauce burned my tongue.
“So, am I the only person who likes dragon-burned food?”
