"Know any Disney Princesses?"
"My niece is basically one. Cute as a button and always wearing those fluffy dresses. Also, a great dancer, and I would know because I do a lot of dancing when I go to my sister's house."
"Dammit, that's cute," she exclaimed softly. "Maybe find a mouse? You'd like a nice, tasty mouse, wouldn't you, honey?" She cooed at the bird. The bird tilted its head again and let out a short 'kik' that sounded like a dog's squeaky toy and she clenched her muscles trying not to move from the surprise of it. It wasn't a sound of warning and gave her the impression of the bird being friendly. The bird's white and brown spotted chest was beautiful, and if she were braver, she'd reach out to feel the soft feathers. Something told her this hunting bird didn't land on her shoulder randomly.
"Find a mouse?" Taylor's voice broke into her thoughts. "That's horrible advice. Okay, this says that hawks can be aggressive toward humans but typically only when their nest or food source is being threatened. Have you touched a hawk's nest recently? Taken an egg?"
"Taken an..." she pulled in a slow breath as she closed her eyes for a moment before opening them again. Still, the bird stared at her. "No, I have not taken a hawk's egg, detective." Then the hawk lifted one leg and again she held her breath and let out a chant of, "Ohmygod ohmygod," in a low pitch, but then she stopped as she saw something curled in the hawk's talon. Four bony claws tipped with razor-sharp black talons that matched its beak held something out and the hawk dipped its head, waiting.
She slid her eyes to where Taylor was watching, his blue eyes homed in on where the hawk was holding out its foot. She looked back at the hawk and got the distinct impression that it wasbecoming impatient so she lifted her own hand, very slowly, with a flat and nonaggressive palm facing upward.
"What are you doing?" his whisper held a frantic note.
"I don't know," she whisper-yelled back. But then the hawk nodded once in apparent encouragement.
"Good," he encouraged in a whisper. "Nice and slow."
The hawk then opened its claws, releasing something silver into her hand where it plopped.
One more 'kik kik' sound and then the hawk pushed off of her shoulder, causing her body to dip down and then it was in the air, swooping gracefully with its long tail and wide wings catching the sunshine wind as it flew off.
She turned toward Taylor and they silently stood there, both unmoving, taking in the moment as if they had been visited by a visage of something holy. And it felt that way, like she had been touched by the earth's blessing. And still, that strange and ancient smell lingered.
"That was..."
"Awesome," she said exuberantly. "A hawk just landed on my shoulder and gave me jewelry. MaybeI'ma Disney princess."
"Can you sing?"
"I mean, I'm not giving Ariel a run for her money, but I can hit notes."
He gave her a look then reached for her hand clutching what the hawk had left her. As he gently peeled her fingers open, his touch warm and honest, they looked at the small, silver heart sitting in her palm. It didn't look new, but also not antiquated. She turned it over to find a scrolling "C" etched into the silver.
"Do you think the Hawk's name starts with a "c"?" she asked.
"I feel like you're kidding, but since we're still getting to know each other, I'm going to answer that. No. I do not think the hawk's name starts with a "c", nor do I think the hawk has a name."
She smiled and turned the heart over in her hand. It looked well-worn and loved. The tiny marking of .925 was barely legible but denoted that it was made of silver. "Alright, I guess I'll take this home and find a chain to put it on."
"You're going to wear it?"
She gave him an incredulous look. "If a fearsome, marvelous creature swooped out of nowhere and left you a charm, you're telling me you wouldn't wear it? That is bad bird friend etiquette."
"This is the first time I've ever thought about it. Give me a second," he said as they continued walking. He drank more of his latte and looked down at the cup. "Seriously, this is the best latte I have ever had. And I don't like lattes."
"No? Let me guess," she tapped her chin with the pad of her index finger thoughtfully. "Americano. Black. A nip of maple syrup in the fall when you're feeling fancy."
"Okay, first of all, that's creepy. Second," he took another drink before he continued, "it's important for a man to feel fancy sometimes."
She laughed and told him about the beans, where she sourced them from. He asked questions about her cafe in Florida and what had gotten her into making coffee. She gave him the simple, half-truth answer; she'd always had a particular sense of smell that gave her an edge to taste. She could cook and bake fairly well. She knew certain tricks; exactly how much vanilla to add to ensure the flavor highlighted the pastry but didn't overwhelm the tastebuds or what skills in the kitchen could elevate a simple recipe making someone feel like they were precisely where they should be as they ate it.
Food had always been a kind of magic to her. Just the right ingredients and a person could feel taken care of.
The full truth involved digging into memories she spent a good amount of time avoiding.
"There's this wild violet that grows here, the common blue, and if you dry them out in the sun and then crush them into a fine powder to dust over a thick latte or cappuccino foam, the taste is like," she lifted her head thinking. "Like, sun-warmed honey, but just a hint of it. It's like tasting whimsy and honesty."
"You're odd, Eloise Willow."
