Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Jeneva
The kiss ended, but the taste of him lingered—an impossible, perfect blend of fall spices that made zero sense.
He pulled back just enough for her to see the liquid silver of his eyes, his expression intense and unreadable.
Her hands were still framing his face, and she could feel the heat of his skin, the rough texture of his jaw beneath her palms.
What was happening? This grumpy, solitary lumberjack had looked at her, truly looked at her, and seen something other than a broken shell. He had called her evolving. The word echoed in her mind, a warm, bright thing in a space that had been cold for so long.
He broke the gaze first, clearing his throat with a low rumble that vibrated through his hands. A flicker of uncertainty crossed his face before the familiar scowl settled back into place.
“I brought something for you,” he said, his voice rough. He gently removed her hands from his face, his touch surprisingly careful, and rose to his feet. “From the village.”
Jeneva watched him, her lips still tingling. She pulled his flannel shirt tighter around herself, the soft fabric a comforting weight. “You didn’t have to do that.”
He held his hand out to her. She took it and let him guide her into the kitchen. The tension that had been thick with desire a minute ago now shifted into a hum of curiosity. Pulling a chair out for her, he then dug inside a large sack on the middle of the table and pulled things out of it.
Grains, dried meats, and a lumpy, mottled-purple gourd the size of her head.
“I accessed the Majaki database.” He gestured at the strange vegetable. “I searched for this… ‘pump-kin’ spoke of. The database provided an image. This is the closest native plant I could find.”
Her heart did a little flip. He had gone to the village and researched a nonsensical craving she had mentioned in passing. He had tried to find a piece of her long-lost home for her. The gesture was so unexpectedly sweet, so profoundly thoughtful, it caused a deep ache in her chest.
“That is so kind of…” she started, but the words caught in her throat.
“I do not have your Earth spices,” he continued, oblivious to her emotional short-circuit.
He held up a small leather pouch. “But these are used in Majaki ceremonial foods. They are delicious.” He opened the pouch and a strange, peppery scent mixed with something like licorice filled the air. It was nothing like cinnamon.
He looked from the gourd to her, his silver eyes earnest. “We could attempt to construct this ‘pie’.”
Jeneva couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up. “Construct it? You make it sound like we’re building a starship.”
A corner of his mouth twitched. “From what I read, the process appears similarly complex.”
The absurdity of it all was delightful. This giant alien warrior was about to perform a culinary experiment with a purple space-gourd.
“Okay, lumberjack,” she said, picking up the heavy gourd. “Let’s build a pie.”
“What do we do first?”
“Cut this open, scoop out the guts and bake the insides until it’s soft.”
Methic took it from her and placed it on a thick wooden block before picking up his axe and shifting it in his hands like he was going to take a swing at the vegetable.
“Do you have a regular knife?”
“Why? This will do.”
“You’re going to cut open a, whatever this is, with an axe?”
He nodded.
Moving back in submission, she braced herself as he made a light swing and cut the gourd in half. Little pieces splattered all over the table.
They both peered inside. The flesh wasn't orange, but a pale, stringy green, and it smelled faintly of damp earth.
“Well,” Jeneva said, trying to sound optimistic. “It’s… interesting.”
Methic just grunted.
She scooped some of the guts, quickly realizing that the entire inside was just stringy guts.
There wasn’t any flesh on the inside to bake into a soft puree.
Holding back a grimace, she finished cleaning out the insides as Methic dumped a coarsely ground type of flour into a bowl.
He mixed it with water, kneading it with his huge hands until it formed a dense, clay-like dough.
There was no rolling pin, so he simply flattened the dough with his palm until it was a rough circle and pressed it into a shallow metal dish.
Next came the spices. Jeneva crumbled the dried, twig-like substance from his pouch into the pale green gourd-guts. The peppery-licorice smell intensified. Her stomach flipped. This was going to be disgusting but she couldn’t be happier.
“Now what?” Hands on his hips, Methic stood back and inspected his work.
“Now we blend it all together. We’re missing milk and an egg. That’s what makes the pie filling more like custard.”
“Hmmm. I do not have those things.”
“It’ll be fine without them.” She hoped.
He began mashing the guts with his normal heavy hand.
The filling splattered onto his cheek. She reached up without thinking and wiped it away with her thumb.
He froze, his eyes locking on hers. The laughter died, replaced by the crackling tension from before.
He leaned in, and for a heart-stopping second, she thought he would kiss her again.
Instead, he turned back to the bowl and continued stirring. No matter how much he stirred, the filling wouldn’t thicken. The strings rose to the surface like a net and tangled around the spoon while it remained liquid underneath.
“I don’t think it’s going to get any better. Pour it into the crust.”
The strings fell into the pie shell with a sickening, wet thunk.
He placed the pie in the lit stone hearth and then returned to the table to clean up the dirty dishes. Jeneva moved to get up and help, but he speared her with a look. “I will get it.”
“Okay. Okay.”
“Inside the bag is bread from the human colony and something called jam.”
Her face lit up. “Really?”
Digging in the bag, she found a boule of bread with a golden brown crust and fresh, comforting aroma. Hugging it happily to her chest, she rummaged around until she found a small jar of red colored jam. A few minutes later, she was eating bread and jam with a cup of steaming almost-coffee.
The smell that soon filled the cabin didn’t contribute to the moment. It wasn’t the scent of warm, welcoming pumpkin pie. It was a pungent, putrid aroma that made her nose twitch.
When Methic finally pulled the pie from the hearth with two thick pieces of leather, it looked even worse than she had imagined. The crust was the color of slate and hard as a rock. The filling had turned a murky shade of brownish-green and bubbled ominously.
He set the disaster on the table between them and handed her a spoon.
She looked at the pie, then at him. He was watching her, his expression a mixture of disgust and profound disappointment.
With a deep breath, Jeneva scooped up a spoonful of the green-brown sludge and brought it to her mouth.
“Oh. Oh, God.” It was dreadful. The texture was slimy, the taste was a jarring combination of pepper, dirt, and bitter herbs. She swallowed hard, fighting the urge to gag.
She looked up to see Methic chewing his own spoonful, his jaw working stoically, his face a mask of profound suffering.
A single tear of laughter escaped her eye. Then another. Soon, she was covering her mouth, her shoulders shaking with silent hysterics.
His scowl deepened. “It is not palatable.”
“No,” she gasped, wiping her eyes. “It’s absolutely, completely terrible.” She picked up her spoon and took another, defiant bite. “And it’s the best pie I have ever had.”
He stared at her, his confusion warring with the beginnings of a smile.
He saw the truth in her eyes—not about the taste, but about the meaning.
He looked down at the pie, then back at her, and the scowl finally melted away.
In its place was a look of such raw, unguarded affection that it made her chest ache.
“Besides,” Jeneva set her plate aside. Standing, she trailed her hand on the table as she walked to his chair and stopped in front of him. He spread his legs wide and she instinctively moved in between his massive thighs. “I have the taste of pumpkin spice right here.”