“Tell me exactly what to do,” he says, coming over to the stove. “Usually when I cook meat, it’s cold in the middle and burned on the outside.”
“I’m seriously beginning to wonder how you’re still alive, Dan,” I say.
He laughs. “I told you. Ration packs in the military, tins of food at home. Worse comes to worst, I’d just go out and hunt in my wolf shape.”
“But your human body needs food, too, right? I thought if you spent too much time in one shape, it gets hard to switch back.”
“That’s true,” he answers, but doesn’t elaborate.
I get him set up with the frying pan, and he puts his full attention on the job. Even though I look up frequently to check on him, I can see that he’s completely focused and following all my instructions to the letter.
“Okay,” he says. “I’ve switched off the heat. Now I just leave them in the pan?”
“Yes, that’s fine. The residual heat will finish them off. It’s how they get cooked through without being burned.”
“I’d like to say that makes sense,” he laughs. “But it doesn’t.”
“Don’t worry,” I reply, smiling. “You’ve done a great job. Can you manage the bread?”
“Sure.”
I watch him get out the rolls and butter, but when he grabs a butter knife, I stop him.
“You need to slice the bread with a sharp knife.”
He looks at the knife in his hand. “But aren’t I using butter?”
“Not yet. The rolls were all screwed up the other night because you used a blunt knife. Sharp and serrated knife to cut, blunt knife for the butter, okay?”
“Okay,” he replies, nodding. “I’m really learning something here. I had no idea different knives were so important.”
“So, you’ve never bothered to use a steak knife for steak?” I laugh.
He rolls his eyes. “The many times I’ve struggled to cut steak are coming back to me with vivid clarity.”
I laugh even harder at the mental image. “Didn’t your mom teach you?” I ask.
Dan tenses up, and the atmosphere in the kitchen turns dark, as if someone covered the light.
“I don’t want to talk about that,” he says softly.
“Okay,” I reply, my voice equally soft.
There’s something there that needs to be unpacked, that’s for sure.
Even though I’m curious, Dan’s pain seems to fill the room like a living thing, and I just pray for it to go away so I can go back to enjoying the growing warmth between us.
I’ve seen a side of him today that I didn’t know existed. It would be such a relief to me if we could learn to get along. I don’t know if we could ever become lovers, but I know now that he’s more than a violent savage, and that’s a start.
By the time we set the table, the mood has lifted a little, and as we sit down to eat, I feel relaxed and comfortable.
Now, the ultimate challenge. What are we going to talk about?
“So, how long have you been a witch?” Dan asks.
I chuckle, shaking my head. “Forever. I was born a witch.”
“No, like, when did you find out you weren’t a wolf?”
