Though I don’t try them.
He made me a roast with tiny potatoes on the side and a sauce that I might dream about tonight.
I’m sipping wine, looking down the length of the table at Pie—who is nodding, and smiling, and paying close attention to a story the monster to her right is telling—when I suddenly realize this meal might be magic.
Then I realize I don’t think I care if it is.
Grant’s magic food, that makes me sick to think about. Whatever spells he was working on me with the food could not have been good.
But if Cookie is working magic into his meals, it’s good magic. It makes people happy. And anyway, it’s not really the food that has lifted my mood today. It’s everything. The blacksmithing, and Pie, and even Tomas’s date tonight.
We’re building something here and it’s good.
I finish my wine, dab my mouth with a napkin, and catch Pie’s eye from the other end of the table.
She scoots her chair back and rises.
I do the same.
There is some protesting from a few of the monsters. And I don’t need to understand their language to know what they’re saying. Stay. Don’t leave. Be with us.
But Pie and I have been apart the entire day, so their good-natured objections have no chance.
I meet Pie in the middle of the table. I take her hand without a word and lead her out of the dining room. But instead of going down the stairs to the lower level, I lead her into the Pleasure Cave hallway.
“Where are we going?”
I glance over my shoulder at her, grinning. “In about ten seconds you’ll know.”
She chuckles. “Pleasure Cave it is.”
We enter the cave together, but she stops short. “Holy crap, Pell.” Her eyes sweep up to mine, bright and blue. “This is… romantic.”
I glance around the room. There are dozens and dozens of wax pillars, still lit, but melting. Drips of wax slide down the columns. The flickering glow of firelight bounces off the cave walls. Just the right amount of shadows to play with our imaginations.
It is romantic.
“There’s more,” I say, walking over to the tray of pots. “Look. The apothecary geniuses made us new salves. One for you.” I hold the honeysuckle pot up to her nose.
She sniffs and sighs. “Mmm, that smells good.”
“And one for me. Well, they’re both for you, I guess. This one will protect your hands from my fire.”
Pie giggles. “I guess there’s a hornjob in your future.”
“I guess there is.” I waggle my eyebrows at her. “But first you.”
The little buttons on her blouse are made of opals. They shimmer when I unfasten them. Pie blushes furiously as I slip the blouse down her arms and let it fall to the floor. And when I reach around her waist and unzip her skirt, she sucks in a deep breath of air.
I like how she acts when we get intimate. She’s so cool and confident most of the time. But when I take off her clothes like this, she always gets shy.
I let the skirt fall to her feet, take her hand, and help her step out of it. Then I arrange her hair so it falls over her breasts.
She watches me closely, holding my gaze when I reach down to unbutton my own pants and they fall to the floor. Then I lead her over to the makeshift rock that is shaped like a bench and dramatically wave my hand at the seat.
Pie curtseys, which is delightful. Then she straddles the seat and leans her forearms onto the rock ledge while I take a seat behind her, slipping my hands around her waist as I scoot forward until my hips are pressed against her ass.
“You put a lot of thought into this,” Pie says. Her voice is low and a little bit husky.