Now that she’s here, in my home, I must ensure she wants for nothing. And that means finding a way to earn more money.
Clearing my throat, I stride into the kitchen.
Her gaze whips up, eyes wide as she stares at me.
“Smells amazing,” I praise softly.
Her lips tremble as she forces a smile. “I’m glad you like it,” she replies in a quiet voice. “If you’re hungry, take a seat and I’ll bring it over.”
I nod and head to the table. My instinct is to go help her, but I temper it down. She only accepted to remain here because she has something to do. I can’t take her purpose away from her, no matter how uncomfortable I may feel.
She comes over with two plates and cutlery before she divides the food onto the plates.
My stomach grumbles in hunger as more of that delicious smell wafts to my nose. And she was able to do this with a few ingredients. If she had more… better quality, more diversity, I bet she’d be able to make the absolute best dishes.
I’ve never paid much attention to my food, mostly because I’ve never been able to afford much so I focused on quantity over quality. But from now on, this must change.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
Once more, she gives me a strained smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“You’re feeling better?”
“I have a bit of a headache, but this should help,” I say as I dig in. The sauce is more of a vegetable stew, with bits and pieces of starches and some greens. I mix the stew with the meat and take a bite.
“This is wonderful. Absolutely amazing,” I praise honestly.
She nods, taking small bites of her own food.
As I reach for the fresh bread, she does the same, and our hands meet midair. Our fingers touch lightly, before she pulls her hand backward as if burned.
“Go ahead,” she murmurs, not meeting my gaze.
I frown at her reaction, but don’t think much of it. Instead, I grab a piece of bread, break it in half and place it next to her plate before getting mine.
We finish eating in relative silence.
As she takes away the dishes, I once more want to offer to wash them, but stop myself before uttering the words.
Instead, I clear my throat and say, “I doubt there’s a lot of food left in the house. We should go buy some.”
She glances at me in surprise. For a moment she seems pensive, almost as if she’s about to refuse.
“You’re right. I used everything I could find for this meal.”
“I’ll go take a shower and change. Meet me here in an hour?”
Her eyes are wide as she stares at me, a hint of pink on her cheeks. I scratch the back of my head, wondering if I said something wrong.
“All right,” she murmurs softly.
I do all my ablutions and change before meeting up with her again in the living room. She’s dressed in an outdoor dress too, with a light brown coat on top.
My instinct is to take her arm as we head out, but as I get near her, she takes a step away from me. Perhaps it’s too early for such intimacies.
We walk side by side, making small talk. She asks me a few questions regarding Zantrax and I confirm that my abilities have mostly lost their strength. All throughout, she nods absentmindedly, almost as if she’s not paying much attention to the conversation.
The grocery run is swift. I’d like nothing more than to drag it out so I can spend more time in her presence, but she’s quick and efficient. She knows exactly which stalls to go to, what to ask for and in what quantities.
