Page 4 of On the Menu

“She’d have liked you, Cara.”

“You’re laying it on thick, Strathvyn.” Cara used his real name, like he was human, like he belonged. Not a stray, roaming, lost, homeless, nameless.

“I might as well go after what I want,” he realized aloud. “I’ve got nothing to lose, and everything to gain.”

Cara was quiet for a second. “No one thinks a scattered, divorced woman in her mid-thirties, with grays that won’t stay covered and eye bags that foundation doesn’t touch, is a prize. Definitely not an ‘everything.’ Especially not if she’s still chasing a career and a degree—and she can’t have kids. Might as well tell you that.”

“I can’t, either,” he said, smiling. “But people adopt. People have ways. I wasn’t looking for a family when I came to town. I just wanted dinner and to stop by and see an old friend. So glad he was out, and you were in.” He leaned over and stole a kiss from her cheek, raspberries and sugar staining his lips even from a single swipe. “Found something much better.”

“Um.” She was flustered, and cute when she was flustered. Innocent again, but still a woman with womanly ways, and he still needed to feed... But she was going to be a banquet worth waiting for.

And that’s why he was doing this, right? Just to get a proper meal, a meal that would truly fill him and last for months, that would sustain him the way quick sex didn’t? A thrashing fuck in some back alley was like a single shot of whiskey and a cigarette. You can’t live on that, but incubi just need to survive, not truly live.

“There’s a hidden gem of a restaurant right across from campus. It’s warm enough that we can get a table on the patio, and it overlooks the river. It’s called the River House, appropriately enough.”

“Are you asking me out to lunch?” Stray enjoyed the thrill of surprise that shot through him. He’d thought he was long past being surprised.

Or happy.

Cara made him feel both, and he made her feel both.

And that was delicious.

“Yeah, I am. If you want?” she asked, the scared little girl hiding behind wise eyes peering out at him.

“I’d love to,” he said, and he was surprised (again) to find that he meant it.

She snuggled up against his chest suddenly, pointing out the building where she had her accounting classes, her hair pressed close to his nose, and the scent of her invading every pore.

He drank his coffee and found it tasted like Cara when she was this close, this happy. Stray drained every drop as he cheered in his head.

His plan, if he could call it that, was working. They had lunch. He suggested dinner. She suggested breakfast the next day at The Pine Loft Coffee Shop.

He kept saying yes, even as the hunger kept growing.

Unlike the last time he’d been in a city, ravaging his way through half-awake, half-willing women, the hunger didn’t hurt, and it didn’t make him reckless with desperation.

It’s like Christmas dinner, he realized, eyes alight as he watched Cara cut into her quiche and smile a secret, guilty smile as she treated herself to something luscious.

There was growing hunger, but it was fueled by anticipation. Not desperation.

He was going soft.

And that was bad.

But when he ate anything near Cara, and her scent was swarming over him, it was hard to remember that anything in the world could ever be wrong, because everything tasted so incredibly right.

“You said you were in town to see an old friend. How long were you staying?” Cara’s voice was suddenly cautious, and the bite of roast beef and gouda on a flaky croissant was suddenly off.

“I can stay as long as I want. My work schedule is flexible.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m... I’m a quality control inspector for breweries and bars in the area. But it’s a job that forces you to be away a lot, out at night.”

“Ah. I bet.”

He put the sandwich down and tried not to gag. The sadness stench emanating from her was thick in his throat, like suddenly walking into a room full of decaying fish.