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Cedra
Her scent hit me like a slap to the face as she stepped into the kitchen. Her cheeks were flushed and she walked a little gingerly as she gathered a few ingredients for dinner.
The heat in my own body had reduced to a simmer after several minutes of intense meditative self-control. My fangs had retreated, too, which was a good sign.
But the deep iron scent that permeated the kitchen now smelled more delicious than anything she could put on a plate—of that I was sure. Saliva pooled in my mouth in agreement.
Why is it so gods-damned difficult? So difficult to just be near her?
I reached for a pan in the cupboard and set it on the stove.
“What are we making?” I asked, breaking the silence in the room.
“I just watched a recipe for grilled corn and meat fritters. How does that sound?” Her voice was a little strained.
“Good,” I replied, reaching for the ears of corn she had taken out of the fridge. “I’ll grill the corn.”
“Th-thank you.” She sounded surprised as she raised her eyes. “You really don’t have to help, you know. This should only take thirty minutes, at least according to the video.”
“I know.” I hit the grill setting on the stove. “I want to.”
“Okay...but you paid for someone to help you with chores just like this and yet...” Her voice still sounded strained.
“Don’t worry about it. I haven’t had fritters since I was a child.”
Did that sound forced? I wasn’t sure. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had to make small talk. Everyone in the Star community knew to leave me alone when it came to gatherings. I’d become sullen and boring these past few years—I knew that. But this was different. I found that I wanted to speak to her, to understand her a little more. I wanted to know why my body was convinced that she was the one for me when I barely even knew her.
“Me either.” An abashed smile crossed her face. “But it was level one on the cooking docu-vid. It’s supposed to be easy. I hope you don’t mind.”
“I don’t.”
Silence.
It was quite obvious that I was great at making others feel comfortable around me.
I stuck the corn on the heated grill as she washed her hands and rolled the meat, flour, egg and spices into little balls for the pan.
She concentrated intensely on each one, rolling them into perfect little round spheres. She was adorable, squinting so intently at each ball, patting the edges so they were even. Towards the end, the tip of her little tongue stuck out from between her lips and it was all I could do not to lean over and press my lips against hers. Instead, I busied myself by ticking off the products we’d used from the little list that hung off the cooler. It helped make sure that nothing went to waste.
Soon, she’d lined up ten fritters for the pan.
I was already done with the corn when she placed the first fritter into the pan. Choosing now to step away, I gingerly plated the cobs onto two plates, trying to avoid singeing my fingers in the process. I watched as she quickly deposited all the fritters into the pan at once.
The kitchen immediately filled with the scent of spices and fried dough. After the light lunch we’d shared, and the long day on the field, my stomach reacted to the smell of food.
I sat at my usual spot and nibbled on a sweet cob, watching her moving the spatula around tentatively.
There was a brief pause, and she said: “Uh, I may have messed up.”
She bit her lip as she looked over her shoulder at me apologetically.
I smothered a laugh as I stood and looked into the pan. The little fritters she’d so carefully rolled had unraveled and now just looked like one giant meat pancake.
“I don’t know what happened.” She frowned as she prodded the pancake with her spatula.
“Well, it should still taste the same, right? It smells good,” I tried to console her.
She sighed, gingerly flipping the large pancake over to make sure it was cooked before transferring it to a plate. It was a beautiful golden brown and tasted just like the fritters I had as a child.
