I did not, of course. I cleared my throat and mumbled my thanks before retrieving a large carving knife from behind the bar. When I turned around, holding it in my left hand, she appeared somewhat startled. She took a very small step back when I advanced holding it.
The buzzing high was gone. I’d crashed right back down to the floor. To reality.
She may have liked my fruit preserves.
But she did not know – or trust – me as a man.
I tried to keep my movements slow and careful, aiming the knife only at the meat. I sliced quickly, suddenly hating to hold the thing and wanting to get through this as quickly as possible. But she seemed to have at least somewhat recovered from her earlier moment of worry. She had not run screaming from the room. And she was not backing away any longer.
I plated her food first, and highest, hoping that with every choice morsel I heaped upon it, the silent message might come through.I would take care of you. I would never hurt you.
“Where do you get your meat, Rivven?” Tasha asked once I’d served the slices of bracku roast onto four plates. “Do you buy it from the others in the province?”
“No,” I said. Shiloh was seated, now. So I sat, too. “Sometimes when Xennet or Dorn has a bracku to butcher for personal use, but they’re finding themselves too busy to do it, they bring it to me after slaughter. I butcher the meat for them, and as payment I keep a portion for myself. They both have tabs here as well. When they come for a meal or a drink, they pay in credits. Warden Hallum facilitates the transfer of funds between us when their tabs get high enough.”
This only ever surprised Xennet. Dorn kept meticulous track of what he owed on his tab. But every time payment was allotted to me, Xennet seemed entirely shocked by what he’d spent.
“Drinks?” This question came from Shiloh. “What have you got back there besides water?” Her head tipped towards the counter.
“I make drinks from sweetened, fermented bracku milk.” I told her. “Sometimes with fruit.”
“Fermented,” she repeated. “Does that mean, like, yogurt or kefir? Or alcohol?”
“It’s both,” Tasha answered for me. “Rivven showed me his set-up once before. And it definitely smelled a little boozy.”
“Yes, there is alcohol,” I confirmed. I was surprised Shiloh would know or care about such a specific chemical component of the drink. She was very clever indeed. “Are you a scientist?”
“A scientist?” She gaped at me before laughing. “No, not at all!”
And yet she knew about alcohol. Brilliant.
“If you would like to try-”
“I’d better not,” she said quickly. “That is not going to help the migraine situation. I’ll stick with water for now, thank you.”
The drink would affect her migraine? How?
Mystified, I began to eat, glancing at Shiloh every few bites as she started consuming her own meal.
“Rivven,” she said after a few quiet moments of eating. “This is incredible. Truly. Thank you so much for this. I don’t even know the last time I had a meal this good.”
That made my chest feel like someone very strong had punched me in it.
That she hadn’t been having good meals before.
That I was providing them now.
“Of course.” I was not sure what else to say. Of course, I would do this for her. Why ever would I not?
What would it be like, I wondered then, to do this for her every day? To feed her, to watch her eyes take on that suffusion of pleasure as she chewed, to hear her words of thanks for the rest of my life?
That would be a very good sort of life.
A great one. Certainly greater than I had ever dared to hope for.
After eating, I piled all the plates on the tray and brought them through to the kitchen. For some reason, Shiloh followed me. She held all four of our drink glasses – one in each hand, and two balanced against her chest, pinned by her forearms.
“Are you…thirsty?” I asked, eyeing the multiple glasses she’d brought with her. How much water could one small human female consume? Would she really need that many cups?
