Taming the Beast

away, but then the smell of frying bacon found her and whipped her head around and before she knew it she was in the kitchen of the half-broken farmhouse.

An old wood-fire stove—large enough to cook for twelve at once—dominated the room. It was even larger than the man, somehow. He hunkered over it, a spatula gripped in his hand, flipping the eggs and adding more bacon to the sizzling surface,

“Thank you,” Rose said.

“I haven’t cooked in a long time,” the man said with a hint of humor. “So save your thanks until after you’ve eaten.”

“I’m not much of a cook either,” Rose said. After a moment, she asked, “What’s your name?”

The man stood straighter then, his hunched posture relaxing somewhat. “What is my name?” he said. “It’s Liam, I think. Yes, Liam. That is my name.”

“You aren’t certain?”

“I don’t get many visitors,” he said with a shrug. Rose could hear the hints of a smile in his voice.

The kitchen was large—everything here seemed to be large, as if the house had been built for people that were thirty percent bigger than most. And it was filthy. The floor was caked with mud and leaves. The refrigerator had been knocked onto its face. The sink was full of old dishes and mud. It was a disaster, and yet the stove was clean and clean plates were on the wide wooden table with one chair by it.

Rose sat at the table, taking the lone chair. It was smaller than one of Liam’s legs. There was no way he could sit in it.

As if he could read her thoughts, Liam said, “That chair belonged to my father. He was built more like you. I get my gifts from my mother, who was built more like me.”

“No chair for you?” Rose asked. It hardly seemed polite to take the one chair.

“I usually eat outside,” he explained. “But I will sit there.” He nodded to a wide tree trunk that Rose had at first taken for firewood but now realized was his makeshift chair.

With a deftness that seemed impossible for his size, Liam maneuvered the fried eggs and bacon onto her plate from the stove using an expert flip. Then he did the same for himself, piling his plate high with a mountain of food. Then, from under a breadbox, he produced a still-warm loaf of bread and a bowl full of honey so golden that it glowed in the morning light.

“Did you bake this?” Rose asked. Her eyes went wide at the sight of the bread.

Liam held up his hands. “I cannot do much with these, but kneading bread is still in my wheelhouse.”

Rose fought back a shiver at the sight of his hands. His fingers were fused together were they met his palm, differentiating only at the final knuckle. His thumbs were large and knobbled and red. His hands were closer to paws than human hands.

“Excuse the redness,” he rumbled. “The bees did not want to give up their honey this morning.” From under his hood, she saw a humble smile. “But please, eat while your food is hot. We can talk after.”

Rose didn’t need to be asked twice. She picked up her fork—checking to see how clean it was—and all but shoveled the eggs and bacon into her mouth. They tasted incredible, better than they had any right to in such a filthy kitchen.

Across from her, the giant man lowered himself onto his tree stump chair. The floor groaned under his weight. He held a fork in his hand and lowered his face and ate almost like an animal. But Rose didn’t care. She nearly did the same. After she’d cleaned her plate, she took up the breadknife and sliced off thick slabs of bread for each of them and then put the tiniest drop of honey on hers.

Rose was particular about honey. Her mother growing up had sworn local honey was the best treatment for many of her allergies, but much of the honey in Poppy Valley had a rank, meaty taste to it that Rose despised. Her mother claimed it was just that they had very strong flowers that created the intense flavor, but for Rose it was a sign that the heart of PoppyValley was poisoned.

Liam’s honey was different. The one drop she tasted carefully, flicking her tongue out and bracing herself for the metallic pungency of the Poppy Valley honey. But no, it was sugary and sweet and tasted like sunlight. Her eyes flew open in surprise.

“Oh my God,” she said, her mouth stuffed full of bread. She swallowed. “Oh my God,” she said again, louder, as she took a heaping spoonful and coated her entire slab of bread with it.

Liam nodded. “I’ve been waiting a long time to steal this honey,” he said. “This morning seemed like an appropriate occasion.” He dipped a hunk of bread into the jar and stuffed it into his enormous mouth. After he was done chewing, he said, “The bees do not disappoint.”

Rose ignored him, cutting herself another piece of bread and attempting to set a new record for Most Honey On A Piece Of Bread Ever. She was fairly certain if the Guinness Book people were there, they’d have given her a medal. After that, she tried to set new records for Most Bread Eaten In A Single Sitting and Least Ladylike Table Manners by licking the honey from her fingers, then dipping her fingers into the spilled honey on her plate and licking them clean again.

Once breakfast was done, she leaned back in her chair and laughed. “That was incredible.”

“Thank you,” Liam said, ducking his head deeper beneath his hood.

“That was like food sex in my mouth,” she said.

Liam was silent at that comment, clearly she’d overstepped some line.

The silence dragged out between them, but it wasn’t awkward at all. It was a comfortable silence.