The flavor hit: rich, savory, and complex. Meat and vegetables and something earthy I couldn’t name. It tasted like comfort and home and things I didn’t have words for.
“It’s wonderful,” I said around a bite. “I love all the flavors.”
He smiled, all tusks. I wanted to make him smile like that again and again, knowing I’d caused it.
We ate in silence for a while, and I was aware of every small sound he made. His fork tapping the bowl, his breathing, and the shift of fabric when he moved.
“I think the biggest adjustment is to my routine,” I said, needing words to fill the space. “At the clinic, I knew what to expect. I worked with my dad each summer from the time I was in high school and right through college. It was as familiar as home.”
“But you left it.”
“I did.”
“That must’ve been hard.”
I ate another bite, chewing slowly, deciding how much truth to give him. “Leaving the clinic felt like losing my dad all over again. He and his partner built it. I stepped into his place after he died because I couldn’t imagine doing anything else. I loved it there.” I tilted my head, glancing his way, and found him watching me like my words mattered. “I felt him in each exam room and in the hallway. But in the past year, I’ve come to realize that it was his space, not mine. I wasn’t growing any longer, I was staying where it felt comfortable.”
“You carried him with you to the rescue league,” Brovish said quietly. “That’s not loss. That’s honoring.”
“Yes,” I said. “That’s exactly it.”
We finished eating and cleaned up together, standing side by side at the sink. He washed. I dried. The rhythm felt practiced even though we’d never done this before.
I dried the last bowl and set it on the counter. His mug sat in the dish drainer, clean and waiting.
No,mymug. The chipped one.
“You’ve been washing this,” I said. “Every day. Bringing it back to the rescue and leaving it for my morning tea.”
He didn’t look at me. “Yes. Sometimes I wash it there and put it on your desk.”
“Why do you wash it for me?”
He reached over me to put the plates away, and I caught his scent again, drinking it in.
But he didn’t answer.
“My dad gave me that mug,” I finally said. “He was so mad at himself when he knocked it off my desk and chipped it. He said he’d replace it but then he…” My gaze fell to the floor. “I should just throw it out.”
“It’s a connection to your father. The chip makes it even more special.”
“You’re right, it does.” My throat felt much too tight. I focused on drying the bowl in my hands, the towel rough against my palms.
“Did you know that the mossnibbles once stole a child’s backpack? The child was here for a tour with his class. They added it to their nest, hiding it underneath the straw.”
“That must’ve sent you and the teachers on a wild goose chase.”
He frowned. “Wild goose…”
I explained the meaning, and he chuckled.
My laughter joined in.
When I looked up, he’d stopped laughing and was staring down at me. At my mouth in particular.
My skin tingled with heat, and I grabbed the last fork, drying it, placing it in the drawer with the others.
Sofia shot sparks, thankfully not at my hair, and we both started laughing again.
