From the corner of her eye, she caught the motion of his other hand, setting two plates onto the low stool beside the stove. The next instant, his second hand closed on her other hip, jerking her against the pressure building thick behind her.
“Sorry, snake.” Her voice came out steady, though her core pulsed at the contact. Then, a twist of her body freed her from his grip as she ducked under his arm and snatched the skillet from the fire. “Food first.” The pan tipped, and two blackened trout slid cleanly onto the waiting plates. “Then…”
His fingers hooked into the waistband of her trousers, resting there like a promise. “Then I make you scream, so loud the entire Hearth will blush from wherever they hold their little secret Five-Day meeting.”
Her chuckle carried light, even as she scooped a mound of rice from the pot and let it fall steaming over the fish.
“It’s good to have goals.” Forks clinked in her hand next as she shuffled to the small table wedged against the wall of carved stone. Her pulse thundered, but she forced her smile as she held both plates up. “Now. We eat.”
He had requested a dish fromwhere she was from.
Unfortunately, that was less simple than it seemed. Most of her life blurred into Missions—different worlds, different roles—each nearly erased the moment the Pattern took her to the next. But sometimes there were fragments left between. And occasional flashes from one place between Missions that felt like home.
This dish—pan-fried blackened trout with rice—was one of them.
The smoke and spice rose from the plates in a wave, and with it came fractured images of gas lamps glowing in mist. And cobblestones slick with rain gleamed under carriage wheels.Music drifted from an open doorway, the press of bodies and lace dresses and laughter spilling into the street.
Aimee squeezed her eyes shut, desperate to seize the thread, to hold the vision before it slipped away like all the others. But the flashes broke apart as quickly as they came. Still—if even pieces had survived, the food had to be good. Right? Otherwise, it would have faded with everything else.
“All right, pet.” Kazuma sank into the seat by the narrow window, the plate scraping lightly as he moved it toward him. “Tell me about…” His voice carried less heat now, but skepticism lingered in the arch of his brow. “Whatever this is.”
She snatched up a fork and jabbed it in his direction. “Just try it.”
“You first.”
“Fine.” The snort broke from her as she speared a piece of fish, holding it suspended for a heartbeat as if to judge it, then popped it into her mouth.
The first chew slowed her whole body. Heat danced on her tongue in a smoky bite, the spice washing into a buttery depth from the crisped skin. A grin spread across her face before she could stop it. She scooped rice onto the next bite and shoved it in.
“Oh my stars.” Eyes fluttered shut as the flavors melded. “It’s so good.”
She chewed until the silence drew her attention.
Kazuma was watching her, one brow raised, the fork in his hand twirling lazily between thumb and forefinger.
“Did you not know what it would taste like?” he said, looking from her face to the plate. “It was your recipe. And you were very specific about what you needed. I spent half the day finding the odd spices you demanded.”
She swallowed, fingers clenching on her fork. “I thought we weren’t talking about our pasts.”
It wasn’t a rule they had agreed upon, not out loud. But it had become one all the same—an unspoken boundary. They lived day by day, in this place, in this moment, with no questions asked about what came before.
“Yes…” His voice carried a pause, deliberate, measured. He carefully speared a piece of fish with her fork, mimicking the way she had done it. The bite lingered at his lips for a heartbeat before he placed it in his mouth.
She caught the shift in his expression—the tension around his eyes, and the surprise that flared before it melted into pleasure.
Aimee,his thought brushed her mind as he swallowed.Do you not know where you come from? Or how you came to be here?
A memory flared, his memory, of her saying she went where the Pattern sent her. The words echoed hollow within her as she dropped her eyes to the table, staring at the flaking fish as though it might offer an answer.
Then—
Another sound broke through. It was the scrape of his fork against ceramic, followed by the quiet chew of another bite.
How was she supposed to explain? Mira had accepted her limited explanation with no protest, though Aimee suspected it had only been because the Mistress of the Hearth—whoever that was—had instructed Mira to let it go. Whythatperson would know anything at all was beyond her. But it had been to Aimee’s advantage, and she had learned long ago that nothing good came from digging.
“You win.” His sigh carried across the table.
Her head lifted. His plate was bare.
