33. Dinner Plans
THIRTY-THREE
DINNER PLANS
Every shifter, whether carnivore or vegetarian, should have a signature dish or two perfected for those moments when company unexpectedly arrives.
Be it a hearty stew, a beautifully garnished pizza, or a simple yet elegant dessert, having a reliable go-to recipe allows you to impress guests effortlessly.
A well-prepared meal not only showcases your culinary skills but also demonstrates your readiness and hospitality, ensuring your guests feel both welcome and well-fed, regardless of the occasion—or their form.
–EXCERPT FROM THE METAMORPHIC MAN: A GENTLEMAN SHAPESHIFTER’S GUIDE TO CULTURED CONDUCT
Arthur piled a second helping of pasta onto Maida’s plate, while she poured him a second glass of wine.
The evening was going very well. Rosie was eating at a friend’s house, and everyone else seemed to be otherwise engaged.
For the first time in the week since he’d moved in, it was just him and Maida, alone, having dinner together.
A single candle illuminated the table, holding them close in a warm, safe cocoon of light.
They were dining in the turret reading nook.
Like a blanket fort or a treehouse aerie, it was the kind of atmosphere that fostered intimacy, and the swapping of secrets.
Everything and everyone else fell away into the night that surrounded them, and even the most trivial things suddenly seemed of great importance.
“Favorite flavor of ice cream?” he asked casually.
“Hazelnut,” she answered. “Don’t tell me you know how to make ice cream as well?” Maida twirled a long strand of fettuccine Alfredo around her fork and took an appreciative bite. “This is ridiculously delicious, Arthur. If being a solicitor ever gets old, you could always consider becoming a chef.”
He enjoyed watching her eat. She did nothing to hide her glee, which made him ache to please her more. He could make a career of that.
“Sadly, I fear I’d be a terrible chef.” Arthur smiled wryly.
“I can’t stand cooking for people I don’t like.
Plus, to be a chef, you have to be creative.
It requires the ability to come up with something new.
I’m more suited to sticking to a recipe.
I’d be happy to find one for hazelnut ice cream and make it for you.
Even though,” and here his mouth twitched into a lopsided smile as he raised his brows in a challenge, “Marionberry is clearly the best flavor.”
“Hardly!” She laughed.
Arthur liked making her laugh, too. Possibly even more than watching her eat. He only wished they had met sooner, or under different circumstances. Or maybe even not at all until they were both adults.
He wished he’d had the chance to woo her and take her out to dinner. If they’d both been Ordinary and never met as children, maybe he might have bumped into her accidentally, in Los Angeles or Boston. Surely the Fates would have made it so?
How foolish he was to speculate like this. But how could he think of anything else when she was sitting so close? Close enough to kiss, if he was willing to risk it.
The possibility hung in the air between them, like a rain laden cloud that was ready to burst. He would have to wait for it to pass. He knew better than to complicate matters. It was just a wish, and a wish it would have to remain.
He couldn’t risk this.
“What are you thinking about?” Maida placed two fingers on his forehead and slid them gently across his brow as if she were ironing out a wrinkle.
“You look so serious.” Arthur jumped back at her touch and regretted it instantly.
Wasn’t this what he so desperately wanted?
To touch her and be touched by her? So why was he recoiling so at the slightest gesture of intimacy?
Come on, Arthur, keep your antlers in check.
Maida was going to move on from here, or maybe he was. He’d have to move out at some point. And then Rosie was going to leave and then he was going to be alone again. This was his fate. The sooner and more completely he accepted this, the happier he would be.
“I was thinking about you,” Arthur answered honestly, if not completely.
“Well then, I wish you wouldn’t make a face like that.” Maida sighed. “I don’t want to be the one responsible for giving you wrinkles.”
“I have a teenage daughter, Maida. You’ll have to get in line.
” Arthur relaxed a little. He placed his hand over hers and gave it a squeeze.
“I can’t help being concerned for the people I care about.
” Then he changed the subject to the matter he’d meant to discuss with Maida this evening, ever since she’d told him what transpired earlier that day.
“Tell me again about the scorpion? Are you sure it became real?”
Now it was Maida’s turn to frown. She withdrew her hand and smoothed out her napkin. “I am as sure as one can be about that sort of thing. It’s all so new to me.”
“So one moment it was a cloth toy in your pocket, and the next?”
“The next moment it was alive and twisting around in my hand.” Maida looked down at her palms. “But it didn’t stay that way.
I threw it and the cat was there and she saw it and she pounced.
But then at some point it transformed back into a toy.
I can’t say when. I’m just glad she didn’t get hurt.
” Maida gestured towards the cat and shuddered at the memory.
“I’m so sorry, Arthur. I still don’t even know for sure if it was me? Did I make that happen?”
“I’m not sure,” Arthur said. “I think it’s likely, though. I’ve never met a manifester before.” Then, noting her distress, he softened his tone. “The most skilled witches can affect physical transformations, but bringing inanimate things to life is a very rare gift.”
“You call that a gift? Your daughter’s cat could have been killed!” She was wringing her hands now, and berating herself. He recognized all the signs. “I don’t know how I did it,” Maida confessed. “I’m afraid to touch anything at this point. I don’t want to hurt anyone. Or anything.”
Arthur laid his hands over hers, noting how small her hands seemed in his. They were trembling.
“The onset of magic is always a little unsettling, Maida. But there are many people here to help and guide you. I’ll tell you something that I’ve observed over the years.
The practitioner’s intentions power most magic.
Energy flows where attention goes. If you don’t have clear and definite negative intentions, it’s unlikely that you’ll achieve negative outcomes.
That’s why I’m not afraid of you, and I don’t think you need to be afraid either. ” He gave her hands a squeeze.
Her expression softened a bit and when she slumped back in her seat, Arthur could still see the fear in her eyes, but it stopped well short of panic. Beneath that fear was pride and determination.
He pulled his hand away, busying himself with straightening the napkin on his lap.
“I’m sure Amrita will have better advice for you when she comes,” Arthur said. “She’s an interesting character. I think you’ll like her. Have you thought more about what you want to ask her?”
“I have so many questions. Mostly about my mother. I’d like to know what she was like.
” Maida raised her wine glass to her lips.
She paused. “And I’m interested in learning more about the Archives.
If I’m to manage this whole place, I’m going to need to learn about the things that are locked down there, and how to keep those secrets safe. ”
At the mention of the Archives, Arthur felt a frisson of fear. The Archives contained many wondrous items. But there were also cursed items locked in the vault below the house. Evil objects powered by dark magic, cruel intentions, and hate fueled chaos.
“Being the caretaker of the Mudpuddle is one thing, taking responsibility for the Archives is another. One step at a time,” Arthur said, mirroring her and lifting his glass to his lips.
But the plaintive yowl of the cat at his feet had him setting the glass right back down again. “What is it, Gemini?”
The cat yowled again, and rubbed against his leg. When he reached down to pet her, she even purred. “Now you suddenly warm up to me?” Arthur asked. “Did Rosie forget to feed you or something?”
“Maybe she’s hoping to score some of your fettuccini?” Maida said.
“Maybe?” Arthur froze as Gemini abruptly leapt onto his lap and placed her paws on the table.
She leaned her head over his plate, sniffing the remains of the sauce.
The cat’s sudden interest in him flummoxed him.
“Is that it, Gemmy?” he scratched behind her ears.
“Do you find my Alfredo sauce irresistible?”
Gemini gave her head a little shake and coughed as if to extract a hairball. The coughing rapidly escalated to a gag. The ice cubes in their drinks clinked together. Gemini was shaking the whole table.
“Oh! Umm…” Maida leaned back.
Arthur froze, undecided whether to fling the cat away or hold still. But the point was moot, as a balled-up, silvery candy bar wrapper came flying out of the cat’s mouth. It landed on the plate. Maida gasped.
The wrapper was stuck to the remaining sauce on the plate. Gemini rotated her head back to face Arthur and meowed again, as if to make a point. Then, with no warning, she took off again.
“What the…” Arthur’s voice trailed off as he leaned forward to examine the wrapper.
It appeared somehow dry, and nearly whole.
He was grateful that the remnants of the cat’s last meal did not accompany it.
He prodded it with his fork and a butter knife, pinning the corners down to confirm his suspicions.
“What is it?” Maida asked. “Some kind of wrapper? I thought I saw her playing with a bit of trash earlier. I wasn’t sure if it was another toy.”