When the smell of smoke shocks me out of a deep, restful sleep, I launch myself out of bed, thinking of an out-of-control wildfire.
The trees! I can’t let them burn.
When I stagger to the window and see nothing but clear sky, I turn around slowly to see the smoke pouring up the stairs.
The kitchen. Oh no…
I run into the thick smoke, wondering if I’m going to find Dan in a pile of ashes that used to be our house.
Is he good at anything except fighting and shooting things?
Even though I’m trying to make light of the situation to save my sanity, there is a deep knot of fear inside when I think about him touching me.
I know it’s inevitable. We’re married now, and heirs will be needed for the pack… I also know neither of us can go the rest of our lives without touch. But he’s so muscular and clumsy… I don’t think he can touch me without hurting me.
When I reach the kitchen and see Dan staring at the small billow of flame across the stove, I grab a wool blanket from a nearby box and shove him out of the way to hurl it on the fire. Even though I’m mad and a little scared, his wide-eyed, shocked expression does make me laugh.
He put a puddle of oil on a high burner and just left it there. What did he think was going to happen?
Even though I’m not confident in Dan’s ability to make coffee—and I’ve never had instant coffee before in my life—I lethim try while I salvage the kitchen. With the back door and the window open, the smoke quickly leaves the room, the stove only needs a bit of a wipe-down, and I find plenty of food in the cupboards and fridge, so I can start again.
I’m beginning to feel optimistic about the day, until I take a sip of coffee. I’d noticed the pale color, but somehow managed to convince myself it would be tolerable.
I wasn’t expecting enough sugar to send me blind, that’s for sure.
“I don’t think I can face the day without a decent coffee,” I say, pushing my plate aside. “Come over here, and I’ll show you how to use the coffee maker.”
Dan gets up eagerly and stands beside me, watching intently and nodding as I go through the steps. By the time the jug is percolating, he looks more confused than when we started.
“Do you understand now?” I ask.
Dan nods enthusiastically. “Not a damn thing,” he answers, making me laugh.
“How long have you been in the military?” I ask as we sit down again.
“Forever,” he says, talking through a big bite of his burrito. “I wasn’t actively a soldier until I was twenty-one, but I’ve been on the base from when I was thirteen.”
I want to ask why, and what happened to his family, but my instincts warn me that this topic might be too heavy to handle, at least on our first morning as husband and wife.
“So, they don’t teach you to cook?”
“No,” he laughs. “We get packs of ration bars, and tins of soup, beans, or ravioli if you’re lucky. I’ve only ever made coffee by just throwing the granules in the cup and adding hot water.”
I suppress a shudder, wrapping my hands more firmly around my cup and taking a sip of the rich, creamy brew.
“But once you left, surely you had real coffee. Didn’t you ever wonder how it was made?”
“I’ve never liked coffee from a café,” he says. “It’s never strong enough, and too creamy, even if I tell them to make it super strong.”
“Wait,” I say, a sudden thought striking me. “Where have you been living in the few years since you retired?”
He shrugs. “I’ve had rooms in Eccles and Rose Hollow. Nothing permanent. I did a bit of sleeping rough as a wolf when there didn’t seem to be much point in having an actual house. I’ve never even been to Clover.”
This man has never had a home!
I realize that as a child, he probably had one, but it feels like it was forcefully taken from him. Curiosity fills me, but I don’t dare ask about it.
“But you like decent coffee, don’t you?” I ask. “Just because this was made in a coffee maker, you can still have it strong.”
