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With a weight to my steps, I dragged myself back to the house, making sure to use the front door so as not to alarm her. I found her sitting at the kitchen table with the old auto-sew in her hands and some thread between her teeth. My torn work shirt was in her hands. She paused when she saw me and quickly set aside the small machine.
“I made a sandwich for your lunch.”
She didn’t quite meet my eyes as she retrieved the sandwich from the keepawarm pan and set it on the kitchen table. I watched her movements, shy, hesitant, unsure as she tried her hardest not to get in my way; it was probably a little difficult since I was standing right in the middle of the kitchen.
“Twyla—” I began, but she cut me off with a shake of her head.
“I won’t bring it up again if you don’t,” she said instead, her gaze still downcast.
“Okay, but I should explain.”
“Please.” Her voice was only an embarrassed whisper. My heart twisted as she snuck a glance at me, her eyes red-rimmed. “Have your lunch.”
I took a seat reluctantly, and she gathered the sewing equipment in her hands, poised to retreat to the little service room.
“Sit with me.”
She looked back at me over her shoulder, her large eyes hiding nothing. She was nervous, embarrassed and probably more than a little afraid of me after what had happened in the barn.
But she was braver than she looked. After a few seconds of contemplation, she set her tools on the table again and took the only other available chair across from me.
“Have you eaten?”
She shook her head slowly. “I know you’re a closed Star and you don’t have much...”
I slid the sandwich over to her.
“Eat.”
“I couldn’t.” Although she looked at the sandwich with more longing than how I’d looked at her lips earlier that day.
“I have enough,” I explained. “I can feed the two of us.”
“Really?”
She raised those rounded dark eyes to me again. I said nothing but pushed the plate closer to her.
Twyla reached out for half of the sandwich and raised it to her lips for a bite. I watched her eat, feeling nourished in a way I hadn’t in a long time. Was there a feeling as fulfilling as knowing you were feeding another being with the fruit of your land?
“It’s not a bad sandwich for my first try,” she commented halfway through her first bite. “But I think I could do better.”
“There are some old cooking docu-vids in the viewing room downstairs. You’re welcome to use them as a guide.”
“Thank you,” she said, as though surprised by my offer.
“You’re welcome.”
Then she raised her index finger—the very same one I’d healed earlier—to her lips, sucking the dripping juices from the meat off it, wrapping her ample lips around the finger like I longed to do. I watched her movements as though they were in slow motion, and I could feel saliva pool in my mouth at the unbelievably innocent sensual movement. I felt a slight pressure against the inside of my lips, and I knew my fangs wanted out again.
I took a deep breath, trying to forget the sweet taste of her blood on my tongue. I sent up a brief prayer of thanks that I could no longer keenly sense the ebb and flow of blood in her veins as I had before. That had simply been overwhelming.
Now I felt slightly more in control of myself again, but she was testing me with her little innocently sensual display. Still, I couldn’t look away.
My eyes followed each movement as she took a large bite of the sandwich, chewing thoughtfully as she sampled the flavors.
Then she pushed the second half of the sandwich towards me.
“There’s something missing,” she commented. “But I can’t tell what it is. Taste it.”
