when he saw she wasn’t retreating, walked towards a drawer next to her hip. He slid it opened and handed her a can-opener. “Do you have a dog?”
As Emmy proceeded to open the cans, she noticed he hadn’t stepped back. He was so close that she could reach out and touch him. Her hands shook as she twisted the knob. What was she doing? She wanted to run, to take her chances in the woods, to be with her grandfather once again. Another part of her, another irrational and far too compassionate part of her wanted to stay, to get to know the elusive, brooding author better. She wanted to ask him questions and answer his and pretend, for just a moment, that he hadn’t been accused of killing his wife and her lover. There were moments when she let herself be too reckless, when she let herself start to like him, to linger in his warm embrace, but she always remembered what he was. How could she forget?
But…
He hadn’t tried to harm her, at least not yet. He hadn’t even yelled at her and he had good reasons to do so, what with her sneaking in his room and then disappearing without first telling him that she’d be gone. Perhaps she could give him a tiny chance.
“Yes,” she said, her lips daring to creep into a smile. Once she popped the lids off, she turned on the stove and placed a pot on the burner before pouring the beans in it. “An Australian Shepherd.” She threw the cans away in the nearby trashcan and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “His name is Bingo. He’s the smartest dog in the world.”
“Really?” His eyes looked soft, a warm blue rather than a dark one. He was smiling, too a smile just as small as hers, but his came accompanied with dimples.
As they waited for the beans to cook, she nodded her head. “He can jump through hoops and listen to commands,” she explained. “He doesn’t need a leash.”
He didn’t say anything in return but continued to stare at her, his eyes carving something into her skin. What, she wasn’t sure, but she felt herself flush as she looked away. Her hand reached up and started playing with her hair, her eyes looking at the food.
“I’d like a dog,” he said, causing her to look back at him. “I’ve been alone for a while. It’s nice to not be alone anymore.”
Emmy cleared her throat. “Well, dogs make the best companions,” she mumbled. Had he complimented her, or was that metaphorical? Whatever it was meant to convey, she felt herself start to shift her weight from her left leg to her right one and then back again. She reached for a serving spoon and stuck it in the pot of beans, needing something to do with her hands so she wouldn’t have to look at him, wouldn’t have to think about him. She started to stir, slow and methodical.
“Why don’t you take a bath?” Jason suggested.
Emmy furrowed her brow, turning her head.
“I’ll take care of dinner,” he continued. “You should have some time to yourself to relax. By the time you’re done, dinner will be ready.”
“If you’re sure…” She let her voice trail off. Was this some kind of trick? Was he trying to tell her in a nice way that she smelled?
“You deserve to relax, Emmy,” he said in a way that sounded like there was more to his words than he was letting on. “I don’t want you to be tense all the time.”
He couldn’t force her to not be tense. Not when there were still questions regarding the real story about his wife and her lover. A bath wasn’t going to fix that.
He offered her a smile, and while she wanted to return it, she couldn’t. If she had tried, her face would resemble a grimace rather than anything sweet.
She headed up the stairs and down the hall where the bathroom was. Emmy couldn’t help but glance in Jason’s room, directly across from the bathroom, but this time, the door was firmly shut.
C. J. Cherryh
Learning to Kill: Stories
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