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“Donuts?” I wonder aloud.
Hades shoots me a secretive smile and pushes open a door. “Harcha. They are like… imagine an English crumpet and an American donut combined. I have been missing them.”
He gestures for me to step inside. The space behind the door is very small, just big enough for a gleaming silver samovar on a tray and a large griddle. A woman works the griddle, pouring the whitish batter onto the hot surface. She turns around and Hades flashes her a sign.
She flips two fresh pancake-shaped pieces of dough onto a paper plate. Hades hands her a wad of cash and he accepts the harcha.
“Come on,” he says, opening the door again. “Let’s sit on some steps and eat.”
He walks only a handful of feet before he finds a stoop to sit on. He turns and waits for me to brush my skirt underneath me and sit down. Only then does he take a seat.
I nibble on the warm bread in my hands. It’s sweeter than a pancake and has more cinnamon than a regular ring donut. It does taste very buttery, despite having a texture of the outside of an English muffin, just where it is brown and covered in cornmeal.
I look up to see Hades practically inhaling his harcha. He eats with a single-mindedness that brain surgeons would envy. It makes the corners of my mouth tug up into a wry smile.
“You must have been a cute little kid.”
It pops out of my mouth without warning. Hades looks up, finishing the last bite of his harcha. “Why do ye say that?”
Shaking my head, I wrinkle my nose and try to ignore the slight flush rising to my cheeks. “Something to do with watching you eat your pastry as if it was the only thing in the world that mattered to you, I expect.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He rolls his eyes at me. “Better finish yers before I do.”
I purse my lips. Tearing off a piece, I hand the rest of it to him. He looks a little shocked.
“Dinnae ye like it?” he asks. He accepts it, looking at the harcha as though it were tainted.
“Of course I do.” I wave the remaining piece in the air. “I think you like it more, though. And I like watching you wolf it down.”
I punctate my statement by popping the piece in my mouth and giving a loud mmmm. Hades shakes his head and eats the rest in three big bites. Then he drops his hand onto my lap.
I lean back and lace my fingers with his, a contented sigh on my lips. Several children burst out from around the corner, kicking a battered soccer ball between them. As I look on, they race around the block, darting to and fro, chasing each other.
They stop near us, looking at the steps to the little harcha shop. A little boy shouts something I can’t understand.
Hades apparently does, though. He reaches in his black slacks for his money clip, peeling a bill off. Then he nudges me with the money.
“Go give this to them.”
I arch a brow, plucking the money from his fingers. “How unexpected.”
He shrugs, leaning back and trying to pretend that he isn’t being generous. I go over to the boys, leaning down and handing over the money. Then I pantomime the harcha that I just ate. They grow excited, dashing down the steps and into the harcha shop.
When I turn around, Hades is just getting up from the stoop and dusting himself off. “Are ye ready?”
My mouth twitches. “What, you don’t want to see them enjoying their breakfast?”
“Not particularly, no.” He eyes me and starts walking away.
I follow, smiling at him.
“It’s too late!” I declare, catching his elbow. “Now I know your terrible secret. You’re soft and tender on the inside, under miles and miles of battle-hardened armor.”
He snorts, shaking his head. But I notice that he pulls me a little closer, settling my arm in the crook of his elbow.
“We should get back to the hotel.” He squints into the distance. “Ares and Eros have some place for us to stay. It’s a private palace, owned by some friend of a friend or something.” He sighs. “Yer art supplies should be set up somewhere when we get there.”
That gets my attention. “You are putting my stuff where just anyone can see it? Is that advisable?”
