“Ravok,” I whine softly. I give a quick look around at our surroundings. Once I confirm we are alone, I lean close while tugging down his face mask. His lips are warm against mine as I press a brief kiss to them. When I pull back, he licks his lips as if savoring my taste. Then, his lips curl into a slight grin before tugging his mask back in place. I suppress an almost overwhelming urge to take things further.
My expression must say as much because Ravok almost sounds pained when he says, “Come, Leelee. Let’s go enjoy some human ‘love’ food.”
We get out of the car, and I lock it, dropping the keys in my pockets. Then I reach towards him tentatively, taking his larger hand in mine. He flexes his fingers around mine, an odd form of unspoken comfort. Despite our stark differences, there is an ease to us, as if our souls are familiar strangers, colliding across the universe on a bizarre journey of discovery.
We walk towards the festival, keeping to the edges of the crowd. As we approach the tents, strings of lights illuminate the gloom. The noises of revelry mix with the aromas of popcorn,sugary sweets, and briny seafood wafting through the air. I would think it would be an unappetizing mixture, but everything smells delicious. My stomach growls in anticipation. Laughter and happy screams ripple around us as children dart playfully between the stalls in frantic excitement. Looking over at Ravok, I grin broadly.
“You’re going to love this, Ravok. I promise you.” My voice is filled with an impish glee. I find myself thriving in his wonder and his fascination with every new experience.
As we weave along the edges of the crowd, occasionally, someone bumps into us. At first, it fills me with worry, but soon I start to relax. Not a single person has even given Ravok a sideways glance. I would think his height alone would make him stand out, but now that I’m paying attention, I notice that quite a few men are even taller than Ravok are milling about. They grow them big in Lublin Harbor.
I glance at Ravok, his towering form standing next to me, and give him a happy grin. It’s a massive relief how no one, not a single soul, gives him more than cursory attention.
I turn away, surveying the rows of tents up ahead. Fairy lights are strung between the tents, casting an otherworldly glow on the milling crowd. The delicious aroma of cooking food is intoxicating, drifting and twisting, leading us toward it.
“Oh, look!” I exclaim. “They have lobster rolls. That is a classic dish from this region of the country. Lobster is a hard-shelled crustacean that we boil and, in this recipe, make into a sandwich.”
Ravok nods. “I am happy to follow your lead.”
Spotting a darker area shaded by a large tree not too far from the food tent, I nudge Ravok toward it. “Wait for me there. I’m going to grab us some food. I really think you’ll love the lobster roll,” I assure him, my excitement at sharing this with himlighting up my heart. His nod is hesitant but trusting, his eyes scanning our surroundings with cautious interest.
Taking a deep breath, I head towards the hustle and bustle of the tent. I nod in greeting at the waiter from the bakery who served me on my first day in town.
“Dobry, here’s your order.” The man dips his head at me before ambling over to grab his food.
The comforting smell of cooking mixed with the salty sea air acts as a balm, soothing the last of my tense nerves. Festive tunes fill the air, the melodies tugging at my heartstrings.
The line for food is not too long, but I take it as an opportunity to gaze towards Ravok. He has taken refuge under the shade of an old elm. I look him over critically and decide that he seems entirely human from here. An oversized, buff human, but a human, nonetheless. He doesn’t seem out of place, lounging against the trunk of a tree. I feel, more than see his gaze – a warmth spreads through me at his regard.
Finally, I reach the front of the line. I order a lobster roll, and as an afterthought, add an order of fries and a glass of ice-cold lemonade.
The tent works on my order while I grab a stack of napkins. Then, with full hands, I head back toward Ravok. I can barely contain my grin in anticipation. Under the canopy of the ancient tree, the laughter and chatter seem muted and fade into the background as my focus sharpens on the man waiting for me. There is an old cut-off tree stump whose surface is flat and perfect for an improvised table.
“Here, try the lobster roll first,” I suggest, handing him the paper tray holding the sandwich.
Ravok gives the lobster piled into the buttered roll an intrigued look. I watch as he lowers his mask and gingerly lifts it to his mouth.
I have no idea why I’m a little nervous. I guess I just really want to suggest something he will enjoy. I take a quick gulp of the lemonade, my anticipation causing my heart to perform an odd little tango. I hold my breath as I watch him finally take the first bite.
A low hum of appreciation escapes from Ravok’s lips. “You like it?” I ask, unable to contain my excitement. He nods once before taking an even larger bite. It is all the answer I need.
It tickles a laugh from me, the sound bubbling up and escaping in the form of a giggle. I blink up at the alien before me, who is holding out the lobster roll to me.
“Here, Leelee,” he purrs, that familiar gravelly richness in his voice making my heart flutter. I take a cautious bite. His face shines with satisfaction as I chew slowly, savoring the food. The lobster is perfectly cooked – nice and tender. There is nothing worse than overcooked, rubbery lobster. Ravok holds out the rest of the roll for me once I finish chewing, but I laugh, shaking my head. “No, you finish it,” I insist.
He responds with a victorious grin before devouring the roll in two enormous bites that make me hide a grin behind a napkin as I pretend to wipe my mouth.
I indulge in a french fry, savoring the crispy saltiness that bursts in my mouth, while Ravok wipes his mouth and hands with a napkin. His gaze locks onto my mouth as I lick the salt crystals from my fingers.
I grab a fry from the paper-lined cup and hold out one for him.
“This, Ravok,” I begin, rallying up my best professor-like tone, “is what we earthlings call a french fry. It’s made from a potato which is a root-like tuber that grows underground. We take it and deep-fry it to perfection. Crunchy on the outside, soft on the inside. I love them, so I hope you’ll like them too. I liketo dip mine in ketchup, which I have here,” I point to the little paper cup filled almost to the brim with ketchup.
My breath catches in my throat when Ravok leans down and takes the fry from my fingers with his mouth. I make an embarrassing little ‘huhgnn’ noise when his lips brush gently against my fingertips just before he straightens up.
As he chews, Ravok gets a comically serious look on his face, like he’s mentally preparing an analysis and report.
“I like it,” Ravok announces once he swallows his bite.
