She is, as ever, pretty endeared by his rich boy nonsense, drawn to the
paradox that is this man in front of her compared with the virtual monk's
cell that he'd called a room back at Black Elm. When he touches her back,
she leans slightly into the touch; it's unconscious, and she barely
realises that she's doing it. Once he's out of the room, she pulls dinner
together, serving up and, after a few minutes, coming out into the lounge,
juggling two plates and cutlery. She sets his plate down in front of him.
"It's a bit of a mix," she apologises. "It's mostly stuff I remember my
grandmother making for Hannukah. Latkes. Keftes...those ones are spinach,
and...these are leek. The chicken's got turmeric and cumin." She flushes
faintly. "I hope it's okay. It's...all I really know how to cook."
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2019-12-28 12:36 pm (UTC)She is, as ever, pretty endeared by his rich boy nonsense, drawn to the paradox that is this man in front of her compared with the virtual monk's cell that he'd called a room back at Black Elm. When he touches her back, she leans slightly into the touch; it's unconscious, and she barely realises that she's doing it. Once he's out of the room, she pulls dinner together, serving up and, after a few minutes, coming out into the lounge, juggling two plates and cutlery. She sets his plate down in front of him.
"It's a bit of a mix," she apologises. "It's mostly stuff I remember my grandmother making for Hannukah. Latkes. Keftes...those ones are spinach, and...these are leek. The chicken's got turmeric and cumin." She flushes faintly. "I hope it's okay. It's...all I really know how to cook."