Page 55 of Romancing Rem'eb

“I don’t know,” I say. “Diced, I guess? Cut them up so they cook down.”

“Yes, but how much do we want them to cook down?” He gives me a very serious stare. “What kind of texture are we going for?”

“Edible?” I say. “Seriously, make it edible and no one will care. If they complain, they can make their own food.” I thumb a gesture back at Gail’s place. “I’m gonna go now. Are you guys good?”

The blonde gives me a bright smile and touches the guy’s arm when he looks like he’s going to protest. “We’ll make it work. Thanks for the help.”

The human guy turns away and eyes the scatter of pots around the morning fire. “Let’s find the salt. If it’s what we had last night, it needs salting, badly.”

Ouch. Poor Daisy. She tries so hard, taking as many cooking rounds as she can a week because she’s determined to learn. Dinner wasn’t great last night, but it was warm and I didn’t have to cook it, so I was fine with it. I make a mental note to find her and tell her how much I enjoyed the meal. I don’t want her to be discouraged in her efforts.

Gail’s hut doesn’t have smoke coming out of the smoke hole, and I hesitate before shaking the bone wind chime at the door, because it’s early. I don’t want to wake anyone.

“Come in,” Gail calls out.

I duck inside, moving the weighted door flap to one side as I enter. The interior of the hut is neat and cozy, and unlike my hut, Gail’s always seems like everything in its perfect spot and nothing is out of place. Fresh herbs hang in bunches from the ceiling, drying and lending their perfume to the air. The hut is empty, too, except for Gail, who sits near the silent hearth. She has a basket full of what looks like laundry in front of her, sorting pieces of clothing into two different piles.

“This a bad time?” I ask.

She shakes her head, and I notice she has pretty beaded earrings in, long and dangly. Those must be a present from Vaza, who is always showering gifts on his “lovely mate.” Gail told me once that she mentioned that she liked jewelry to him once and he’s given her delicate trinkets and hand-made baubles ever since. The dangling earrings against her graceful neck and shorn skull make her look delicate and elegant despite her surroundings. “I’m just going through laundry. If you’re looking for Vaza or Z’hren, they went hunting together. I swear, those two.” She makes a face and sets the tunic in her hands in her lap. “You want to hear what they did now?”

“Always.” Villages run on gossip of even the smallest kind, and Croatoan and Icehome Beach are no different in that regard. I take a seat across from her by the fire. “You want me to start this for you? I’m good with fire.”

Gail waves a hand. “No. As soon as I figure out what needs to be mended, I’ll head back out and help Sabrina and Jason with breakfast. As for my men, Z’hren just told me that his pants were ripped. I said which ones, and he said all of them. I asked how that happened, and let me tell you the story…”

She launches into a funny tirade about some hunting misadventures between Vaza and their son Z’hren, who must be at least six now, and the hills, holes, and cliffs they managed to fall down in the course of the last month, all without telling Gail and hiding the evidence. By the time she finishes the story, she points at her ears with a flourish. “That’s why I got a brand new set of earrings, and they’re out hunting together while I sit here and piece together all their clothing.”

“I can help with the mending,” I offer.

“Children, both of them,” she declares, but there’s a fond smile on her face and she touches her earrings, and I know she’s just exasperated but not truly upset. “And I don’t mind the mending. It’s the ridiculous stories to hide the evidence that annoy me. You didn’t come here to watch me patch someone’s britches, though. What do you need?”

I pick up one of Z’hren’s small pairs of pants, fingering the bad rip in the knee. “I need to talk to someone about my messy situation.”

“Is it messy? Maybe I should put some tea on after all,” Gail says, moving toward the firepit. “But the others do need me. Can you give me the short and sweet version?”

So I do. I tell her all about my resonance with Rem’eb and how it happened. What it was like back in their village and how they keep the women there behind a wall to protect them. Her brows go up a few times but she doesn’t comment, just listens. I tell her all about how kind and sweet Rem’eb is to me, and how we flirt but neither of us is pushing the other for fulfilling resonance. How he’s made it clear that he wants me…and made it doubly clear that he doesn’t want me enough because he’s going back home to his people.

“I know he’s waiting for me to say yes and then we’ll fulfill resonance. But I don’t want to say yes.”

“Because you feel like he’s treating you like an afterthought,” Gail states.

I blanch at her words. “It’s not exactly like that. He’s the…honestly, he’s exactly what I need. He’s funny and polite and doesn’t take himself so seriously. He’s the most caring guy. I think that’s the problem. He cares too much.”

“Because he’s got problems back at home,” she adds, nodding thoughtfully. “And he can’t let go of his obligations to come up here and live with you.”

“Yes! Exactly.” I’m so relieved someone else sees it.

“Okay then…should he?” She tilts her head, regarding me.

“Should he what?” I’m not following.

Gail gestures at me, her earrings tinkling as they brush her shoulders. “Should he ignore that his people are a real mess and need him? So he can come and frolic on the beach with a pretty stranger?”

I’m trying not to frown, but it’s difficult. I was hoping Gail would see my side. “I’m not saying we should frolic, exactly. I just want him to choose me first. Is that so wrong?”

“It’s not wrong at all. And if we lived in a bubble, I’d tell you that he’s being unfair. But we don’t live in a bubble. The world is messy and we all have obligations. You say he’s kind and thoughtful…and of course he is. Those things that you like about him are what also make it impossible for him to stay. It sounds like if he abandons his people to stay here with you, they’re going to suffer. His father is going to run things into the ground, or he’s going to fight with these rebels, and either way, it sounds bad. He might be happy to be with you—thrilled, even—but he can’t forget his obligations. And would you really want him to? Would you really want him to be the kind of person that doesn’t think about what anyone else needs at all?”

“No,” I say softly. “It’s just…”

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