He nodded. “Thanks tae yer brother, the future king of Riaghalbane, who has deserted me in his time of needin’ me most.”
“Well, we are going to have to make the best of it.” I cocked my head. “Want something to eat?”
“Aye, I am famished.”
I led him back to the kitchen with Dude padding at my feet.
Torin satdown at the table. We had a beer, while I gathered a thick sliced, farmhouse-style white bread, three different kinds of cheese, and a stick of butter. “I don’t have bannocks, I didn’t know you were coming.”
“Tis fine, what are ye makin’ instead?”
I said, “A grilled cheese sandwich with some creamy goat cheese, a chunky blue cheese, and some slices of smoked cheddar.”
He said, “Och, that is m’second favorite.”
“Is not, I bet you’ve never even had a grilled cheese sandwich, and you’ve for sure not eaten soft, store-bought bread. Boy, are you in for a treat.
I turned on the stove, heated the pan, and slathered butter on the bread. I added a smear of pesto to the inside and began to layer the cheeses: a layer of the creamy cheese, some nuggets of blue cheese, a couple of slices of cheddar. “You want eggs on the side?”
He nodded.
So while the sandwich began cooking I cracked eggs. “You say you’re famished, how many eggs do you want?”
He said casually, “Four?”
I broke four eggs into a bowl. “You’re sure only four?”
“How many will be fair?”
“I have two more.”
“Och, six eggs then, it sounds verra good.”
I cracked two more into the bowl and whipped them up. Then I gestured toward the bathroom. “You’re going to need to wash up, go ahead and get comfortable.”
He went to the bathroom and was gone for a bit while I whipped up the grilled cheese with a side of scrambled eggs in my cast iron skillet. When he returned he had washed, his hair was wet in the front, slicked back, his face and hands looked scrubbed. He had his shirt loosened, untied at the neck. He'd removed his weapons, including the scabbard and sheath. He was barefoot which meant —I am going to stay.
He was so hot, it got me flustered.
He lived here now.
He sprawled in the chair, leaning back with a beer in hand, knees splayed wide — at rest, but still cocky.
I flipped the sandwich, slid it onto a plate, spooned the scrambled eggs on the side and turned around. His brow was arched, the corner of his mouth up.
I said, “You’re enjoying this, me cooking for you?”
“Och aye.”
“I suppose I owe you after all those hours of you holding drinks to my mouth, trying to nurse me back to health.”
He said gently, “Ye daena owe me a thing, mo leannan.”
I placed it in front of him and then dropped into the seat across from him. “Voilà,you know what eggs are butthisis a grilled cheese sandwich. See the cheese oozing out? That’s how you know it’s going to be good.”
“Och aye, but I must pray first.”
He folded his hands together and bent his head. “Bless this food before me, Lord, and the hands that prepared it. May it give me strength tae guard what I hold dear, and never falter. Amen.”
