Dreamhearth by M.C.A. Hogarth

Author:M.C.A. Hogarth [Hogarth, M.C.A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction, new adult
Publisher: Studio MCAH
Published: 2017-07-13T04:00:00+00:00

Two days later, Vasiht’h set out four place settings instead of two and sent Jahir a message to bring back extra groceries. When the Eldritch returned with his shopping bags, the query preceded him in the mindline, a bemused fog. “I invited our neighbor,” he told Jahir. “He’s a widower.”

“Ah, the quilt-maker.”

“I thought he and Helga might enjoy each other’s company,” Vasiht’h said innocently, taking one of the bags. He ignored the stern look, feeling it just fine through their link. Setting the bag on the counter, he added, “Trust me.”

“I do,” Jahir said simply.

The ease of it flustered Vasiht’h, as it always did… that he might have earned the trust of a member of this rare and reclusive race, and this particular member. Who was so much everything. Not an angel, like what’s-her-name from his novel, and not a hero chiseled into stone, but something finer and realer. More real? His friend. His best friend. Setting the bread in the warmer, he said, “It’ll be great.”

And it was. Helga arrived first, settling in with her preprandial tea and teasing them both about this or that. Hector came by ten minutes later, and to Vasiht’h’s delight he was wearing a carnation in his buttonhole. The two of them sized one another up, and as Vasiht’h expected, grinned at each other with similar expressions of mischief. After that, dinner rolled along, with both Hinichi and human trading amusing stories and bantering.

/Matchmaking?/ Jahir asked when they were clearing away the plates for the dessert course.

/I think so,/ Vasiht’h said, surprised to discover it was true. Some part of him had known they’d like one another. /Why be alone after your spouse’s passed away if you can find company again?/

/Wise,/ Jahir murmured, with a hint of that autumn-wind softness Vasiht’h associated with his acceptance of what life would be like for him in the Alliance. It dissipated when Vasiht’h sent him a twinkle of stars to decorate the sky for that wind. His friend smiled at him over the coffee pot.

“So,” Hector said as Vasiht’h set out the flan. “Helga-alet. You’ve known these youngsters a bit longer than me, I think.”

“Since they got here,” Helga said agreeably, leaning back with her hands on her now distended belly.

“And have they done well by your lights?” Hector asked. Too innocently, maybe, because Helga rotated one ear slowly toward him.

“I think they’re doing fine,” she said.

“Oh, come on. They just fed you a meal fit for a queen.”

“And flan,” Vasiht’h said.

“And flan!”

“Flan is special,” Helga admitted, staring up at the ceiling. “But do they grind their own coffee beans?”

“It would be easier to do so in an apartment with a better kitchen,” Jahir said.

Vasiht’h sat on his sudden laugh. /You did not say that out loud!/

/She wishes to play with us, in a kind way. It is only polite to join the game./

Helga thought so too, apparently, because she was watching them with a smirk. “A better kitchen, is that it?”

“We do like to cook,” Vasiht’h said.

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