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“Yep. Two other donuts. Before.”
A sigh. “What do you feel like for dinner?”
“Nothing.” I was still vaguely nauseous.
“I’ll figure out something. And…” Another pause. “I’m going to stop at home to pick up some clothes, okay?”
I wanted to tell him that I really would be fine, that he didn’t have to take care of me, that I was a macho elf. But given the fact that I had all the strength and stability of a two-hour-old kitten—minus the cuteness—to do so would have been more bullshit than even I could sling with a straight face. Besides, I wanted him to stay over. For completely different reasons that I had the feeling I wasn’t going to get to explore, but beggars and choosers and all that.
“Okay,” is what I mumbled.
I felt his lips press against my temple.
“Take care of him, okay,gatito?”
Pet meowed.
“Good.”
And then he left.
I was really glad I didn’t have to pee.
* * *
I fell asleep almost immediately,waking to find a dish of oyster crackers and a glass of something clear and full of bubbles next to me on one of my foldable tv tables. I got daring and tried pushing myself up, pleasantly surprised to discover that complex skills like sitting were becoming a little more achievable. Which also meant that Doc was right that Bazan hadn’t done anything permanent to me.
Thank fucking God.
Then I noticed that my apartment smelled fucking amazing, and my stomach growled, apparently deciding that while it had been upset about the donut, it was definitely interested in whatever was making the air smell like a fantastic Mexican restaurant.
“Taavi?”
He appeared in the doorway, one of my kitchen towels thrown over one shoulder, the sleeves of his light blue work shirt rolled up—well, the other sleeve, since the one on the arm with the cast had already been rolled up around his elbow to make room for the plaster.
“What can I do?” he asked, his forehead slightly wrinkled with concern.
I shook my head. “I’m okay,” I replied, suddenly feeling shy. “But it smells good.”
A smile spread over his lips. “Good,” he replied. “That means you must be doing better.”
“What are you making?” I wanted to know.
“Enchiladas.”
I almost asked him if he remembered that I couldn’t eat meat, then decided that might be insulting. “What kind?” I asked, instead.
“Some plain cheese, some with beans.”
My mouth watered. “That sounds good.” He had remembered. Which, honestly, shouldn’t have surprised me, because Taavi—unlike yours truly—was a considerate person.
He gave me another smile. “Eat your crackers,” he ordered. “If you can manage that, you can have an enchilada.”
I reached out and took a handful of the tiny, salty hexagons. “Just one?” I asked, putting one cracker in my mouth.
“One to start.” Then he smiled. “Then if you’re still hungry, there’s plenty more. I made enough for at least today and tomorrow for both of us.”
I frowned at him, popping another cracker. “I don’t think I own that many pans,” I mused, wondering if he planned to be cooking all night or if he was in the process of destroying my cookware.
