“How about tomorrow?” I asked. I opened a drawer, searching for cutlery for us.
There was precisely one fork. One spoon. And one knife.
That was it.
“Hold on,” I said, dropping my plate with a clatter on the counter and hunting around the exploded boxes. “I think I saw…Here we are!” Triumphantly, I brandished my little bento box lunchbox I’d used for my shifts at work on Elora Station. It was candy-apple red, with its own matching fork, knife, spoon, and set of chopsticks. I fished out the fork and spoon and returned to my plate.
We had to eat standing up, because the kitchen table was completely loaded with my boxes, as was the chair that went with it. Once I’d had a few bites to take off the grumbling edge of my hunger, I slanted my gaze at my silent brunch companion. He ate with a mechanical sort of precision that seemed less about actually experiencing the food and more about fuelling his marvellous body as efficiently as possible.
“What do you think?” I couldn’t help but prod. I knew I was a good cook, but also recognized that this meal would be a little foreign to him, with human flavours he might never have experienced before.
He finished his bite completely before speaking, his square jaw working and his throat contracting with a swallow.
“I was thinking about the hospital construction timeline.”
“Oh. I meant the food,” I said, grinning. “What do you think of the food?”
“It seems to me to be a very nutritionally balanced breakfast.”
“And the flavours?”
His gaze met mine.
I’d always favoured bold, bright, saturated colours. Red lipstick, pink slippers and mugs. Rainbow pillows and blankets galore. I’d never really stopped to notice how pretty grey could be before. But Warden Hallum’s eyes had thoroughly convinced me. That extraordinary clash of winter and water and metal.
Maybe I should buy a few grey or silver décor items…
“I have not tasted anything like it,” he answered me. “I usually eat quickly, simply to provide my body with enough energy. I don’t usually examine the matter beyond that.”
“You don’t say,” I murmured. Looks like I’d been dead-on there. I took another bite, assuming he was finished talking, but he wasn’t.
“It is good.”
There was absolutely no reason at all that my belly should contract with quick and liquid pleasure at his compliment. Sadly, no one actually told my stomach that, so it went ahead and did it anyway. I took another big bite, chewing quickly to distract myself from…well, everything. Him. Me. The rather annoying fluttery thing my heart was currently doing.
It didn’t really work. He’d complimented the meal, and I was happy. Partially because I was proud of this recipe, one of many mylolahad taught me when I lived with her. And partially because a compliment from Warden Hallum felt like a rare and wonderful thing. Like when an antisocial cat chooses your lap above all others to sit on. I didn’t think he gave them out often. And I definitely didn’t think he’d be the type to blow smoke up anyone’s ass.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“Do not thank me,” he grunted, carrying his empty plate to the sink and beginning to wash it. “I did not put in all the work to cook this meal.”
Cheeks feeling flushed, I worked on clearing my own plate. Warden Hallum had had more food on his, but his non-stop, almost-robotic method of eating meant he’d finished much quicker. I still had a lot left. I was so focused on the food, and on letting his words replay over and over in my head, that I didn’t even notice he’d begun cleaning the messy dishes up for me. By the time I finally finished my last bite and took a look around,every pot and pan had been washed and put away, and all evidence of my myriad drips, drops, and spills had been entirely erased. It was almost magical, to be honest.
Warden Hallum brought that same magic – or what turned out to be an intense, military-man sort of work ethic – to “helping” me clean up my stuff. Although, it felt a bit less like helping and more like he was trying very badly to establish some sort of structure for me to work within.
“Perhaps we should start with what has already been opened,” he said, his grey gaze falling meaningfully to my hands, which were reaching for one of the boxes from the second load he’d brought last night.
“I’d rather dump everything out at once,” I replied. “Get it all out in the open! Then we can really dig into it all!”
I could tell he detested that idea, but not enough to argue with me. He just clenched that hard jaw, his black eyebrows tightening over his eyes.
It was hard not to laugh in his very cute, very clearly discombobulated face.
“You really don’t have to help,” I said, emptying a box of colourful silk scarves onto the floor. “If this is stressing you out, you can go in your room for a bit. Or outside. I’ll keep working on this in here.”
He stilled, then straightened to his full height. Which was actually quite intimidating. Or it would have been, if he didn’t still have that twitchysomeone-please-save-me-from-this-humanlook of exasperation on his face.
“Dr. Ortiz,” he began icily.
