Chapter Eight
Givingthem a chance meant movie time. And since I sat between the two, I got to hold the bowl of popcorn. It wasn’t some microwaved stuff but honest to goodness theater popcorn with the salt and oil and everything. And I couldn’t stop snacking on it as we watched the animated movie Groth had picked.
I shifted my position and tucked my cold feet underneath me, careful not to spill the popcorn. Azio and Groth would help themselves to a piece every now and then, but they didn’t eat nearly as much as I did.
Between the cartoon playing on the screen and the food at my fingers, I was relaxed enough that I didn’t overthink my moderately sandwiched position.
“Jessie told Byllo that fish are not smart enough to talk here. We can still eat them,” Groth said.
“We don’t kill smart things,” Azio added.
They’d been making commentary since they’d lured me to the couch with popcorn. I didn’t mind the conversation. It was insightful hearing how the fey thought. Or, more importantly, the direction of their thoughts, which revolved around feeding me and helping me not be afraid of them.
“See? Not all creatures with sharp teeth are bad,” Groth said.
A few moments later, that changed onscreen, and Groth cringed. Hiding my smile, I consolingly patted his knee.
“That doesn’t mean you’re wrong. The shark just made a mistake.”
He glanced at my hand on his knee, and I quickly removed it.
“Sorry.”
“Kindness deserves no apologies,” Groth said. “You’re the first female to touch me. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome?”
Azio chuckled beside me at the confusion in my voice.
“You don’t see it as the gift it is. You will.”
Rather than sort out what he meant, I focused on the movie. By the time it finished, I’d eaten all the popcorn, and lunch was the last thing on my mind. Yet, it was on Azio’s.
“Come. I will make your midday meal.”
I stood and followed him to the kitchen.
“Honestly, I’m not that hungry right now.”
“Popcorn is a snack. Not a meal. Jessie told Byllo. You need to eat a variety of healthy food, or you will get sick.”
I slowly sat at the table and watched him move around the kitchen with determination.
“If you really want to feed me, I’m not going to argue.” I doubted I would ever be able to argue with him.
“What kinds of foods do you like to eat?” he asked.
“All kinds. I’m not picky.”
“Were you picky before the hellhounds came?”
“Maybe, but in a different way. I wanted to eat whatever I was craving at the moment.”
He paused opening a can of soup and looked up at me.
“What are you craving now?”
“Now? Nothing, really. I’m too full of popcorn. It was too good to stop.” I smiled at him because he’d been the one to make it for me. He didn’t return my smile. Instead, he grunted and went back to opening the can of soup.