He turned his attention back to the platter, adjusting a pile of Marcona almonds, repositioning a cluster of grapes, adding a small dish of olives. She passed him the cutting board of uniformly-sliced bell pepper strips.
“I’ll finish this if you do drinks.” He tipped his chin at the tray.
“Wine?” she asked.
“A half glass only.”
Leon finished assembling his charcuterie board, then lifted the heavy platter and turned toward the dining area. It wasn’t far—just a few steps into the next room, where a small, round table waited by the window, two chairs facing each other.
He set the platter down. She’d set out plates, cutlery, and glasses of water as well as wine. When he walked around and pulled out her chair, she slid into her seat, hands resting lightly in her lap.
Leon sat across from her. For now. They needed to be on equal footing and face to face as he explained the rules.
They both waited, and he must have been smiling because her lips quirked too.
Cessie reached out, hesitating just slightly before picking up a piece of cheese from the platter.
Leon caught her wrist—not hard, not rough—but firm enough to still her movement.
She looked at him, brow raised.
Without a word, Leon leaned forward over the table, rising slightly from his seat. He cupped her jaw with one hand, steadying her, and kissed her. No more than a whisper of pressure. His thumb brushed against her cheekbone, lingering for a beat longer than necessary.
When he pulled back, he held her gaze.
It wasn’t just a kiss.
It was their signal.
Cessie froze for a heartbeat. Then, slowly, she exhaled, her body easing back into the chair. She lowered her gaze, though she watched him through her lashes.
Leon let a small, satisfied smile curl at the corner of his mouth.
Good.
The scene had begun.
He took the piece of cheese from her hand and set it back on the platter as he leaned back in his chair, one arm draped casually over the backrest, the other resting on the table. The air was heavy, expectant.
Slowly, layer by layer, he would rebuild her trust in him, just like a falcon learning to trust the voice and touch of their handler.
He let the silence stretch between them, thick and deliberate, until he saw her shoulders start to relax, her breathing slow to match his. Only then did he lean forward and pick up the piece of cheese she’d selected from the platter.
He held it between two fingers and extended his hand across the table.
Cessie hesitated for a moment, her gaze flicking from the food to his face.
Leon said nothing—only waited, patient and steady.
Slowly, she leaned forward. She kept her hands folded neatly in her lap and opened her mouth, looking a little unsure.
Leon brushed his fingers deliberately against her lips as he placed the small cube of cheese into her mouth.
Cessie’s breath hitched, but she didn’t pull back. She closed her mouth, chewing carefully, her gaze never leaving his.
Leon sat back, satisfied.
That had been a proof-of-concept test. His instincts said that this approach would work for both of them, but the fact that she’d either remembered what he’d said about falcons eating from the hand of their falconer, or that her own instincts had told her to eat directly from his hand, was all the proof he needed to push ahead.
