She put her hand in his and allowed him to pull her to her feet. “This sounds risky,” she commented.
“Not in the least! You must learn to have faith in me, Pilot.”
* * *
“There's wine in the keeper,” Daav said, jerking his head toward the rear of the kitchen, as he opened the coldbox. “If you would be so kind as to pour for us?”
Aelliana tightened the sash of her robe and moved off in the indicated direction, the floor tiles cool beneath her bare feet. By the time she had extricated a bottle of white wine by a process that could only be defined as True Random, Daav had taken over the corner of the counter nearest the stove, knife and cutting board to hand.
She carried her burden to what was obviously a wine station, with glasses and cups hanging ready over a table topped with stone. Reaching up, she unracked two glasses, unsealed the wine and poured.
“Where will you have it?” she asked.
“In hand,” came the answer, so she took a glass to him.
He had it from her with a smile, sipped—and laughed. “Yes! This will go excellently!”
“I suppose I should have told you that I know nothing of wine,” Aelliana said ruefully. “But my mission came upon me so quickly . . . ”
“No, you have comported yourself with honor! It only remains for me to do my part.”
Smiling, she drifted back down-counter, picked up her glass and looked about her. There were stools pushed under a high table set at an angle to the counter. She pulled one out and perched on it, watching as Daav deftly took four slices of brown bread from the loaf, sprinkled them with oil and set them on the flatiron he had placed on the stove. He unwrapped the block of cheese, and cut four thin slices from it, rewrapped it and pulled a second, smaller block to him. His motions were quick, but relaxed, without a wasted move, nor a stutter.
“Will you like sweet sauce?” he murmured, without looking up from shaving paper-thin slices from the second cheese. “Hot sauce? Jam?”
“Make them as you would for yourself,” she told him. She sipped her wine—and gasped.
Daav looked at her over his shoulder.
“Is the wine not to your liking?”
“I—It is very much to my liking,” she confessed, and raised her chin, determined that he not see her chagrined twice over the same bottle. “It will, I think, go very well with the cheese.”
“I agree,” he said, his eyes dancing. “I see that you give me close supervision.”
“As to that, I haven't the first idea of how to make toasted cheese sandwiches! I find the process fascinating.”
He grinned. “Watch well, then. The next time we require comfort, you will cook.”
She shook her hair back, watching him ply the knife, so certain and so deft.
“I might very well make an error, and lose comfort for both.”
“Little chance of that.” He put cheese on two slices of the oiled bread, and pulled a small jar down from a shelf cluttered with such. Each slice was spread with a brownish sauce and capped with a second slice of bread. Daav lit the burner and reached for the turner hanging behind the stove.
“Every toasted cheese sandwich is unique unto itself,” he said, picking up his glass. “Like art, there are no mistakes.”
Aelliana sipped her wine, relishing the sweet flowery notes, and the bite of licorice beneath. Daav made a pleasant sight, his shoulders easy and his hips cocked, as he overlooked his project. He raised his glass for another sip, the muscles moving beneath his shirt, and she was suddenly, vividly warm, recalling the feel of his skin beneath her palms, his long legs, entwined with hers . . .
Flushed, she raised her glass and drank, perhaps more deeply than the wine deserved. At the stove, Daav used the turner, and the sandwiches sizzled against the grill.
Turning slightly, he put his glass down and reached into the cabinet to the left of the stove, pulling down two plates.
“In a moment,” he said, over his shoulder, “we feast.”
That was, she thought, a cue. She slid from the stool and retrieved his glass, carrying it with hers to the table before she fetched the bottle and refreshed both. The stool, she brought back to its proper place, and turned just as Daav arrived with the plates, each adorned with a toasted sandwich, cut neatly into halves.
“Now, Pilot,” he said, folding his long self onto a stool, “I daresay you've never sampled anything like this!”
She laughed, watching under her lashes as he picked up a half sandwich and juggled it along his fingertips. That was not play, she found a heartbeat later, as she picked up one of her own halves; the bread was hot, slightly oily, and smelled delicious.
Carefully, she nibbled a corner, sighed and looked up to find him watching her.
“Well?” he asked.
“It's marvelous,” she told him truthfully. “What is the sauce?”
“Apple butter. You don't find it too sweet?”
“Not at all,” she assured him, and smiled. “Thank you, Daav.”
“No need to thank me for taking proper care of my pilot,” he answered, and turned his full attention to his meal,
