Her dark hair has escaped whatever professional braid she started with and hangs in loose waves around her face. She pushes it back with fingers that tremble slightly, though I can't tell whether it's from cold or hunger.
Professional distance, Hollister.
She's a client.
"Thank you," she says when I hold out a bowl.
Her voice is flat, as though she isn't certain about accepting anything from me but knows starvation would be an overdramatic way to make a point.
Her gaze moves over the set table, the folded napkins, and the careful presentation. Something in her expression eases by one degree.
She sits and picks up her spoon. I settle across from her with my own bowl and watch her take a tentative taste of the broth.
For one second, her guard drops completely.
Surprise flashes over her face, like she expected it to taste terrible. When it doesn't, the corner of her mouth lifts before she can stop it.
Then her spoon hovers halfway to her lips.
She studies the contents of the bowl as if conducting a chemical analysis. After a moment, she resumes eating, but I notice what she's doing.
She pushes every piece of meat to one side, creating a careful border between the venison and everything else, as if proximity alone might infect the potatoes.
Well, that explains a few things about Dr. Aris Thorne.
I take a bite and savor meat that is tender and seasoned right. Mags puts up several jars from my recipe every fall, and it took years to get it exactly where I wanted it.
"Are you a vegetarian?" I ask, gesturing toward the untouched side of her bowl.
"No." Her answer comes too fast. Her chin lifts. "I eat everything."
She glances down at the meat she's separated from the vegetables.
"What is this, exactly?"
"Venison. From a deer I took last fall."
Her face moves through several expressions. Understanding. Distaste. Something close to guilt.
"You killed it yourself."
"I did."
I keep my tone matter-of-fact, though I'm watching her reaction.
"Shot him during hunting season."
She sets down her spoon.
"What do you eat back home?" I ask.
"Normal food."
I raise an eyebrow.
"Chicken, beef, fish. Things from the grocery store."
"So you eat meat."
