"I am," Sol said, his voice steady despite the pounding of his heart. "But I warn you... once you taste my cooking, you might not want anyone else's."
Evara laughed, a low, throaty sound. She shifted closer, her breast pressing against his arm.
"Is that a threat, little Sol?" she teased, her eyes gleaming in the firelight. "Or a promise?"
Then, with a sudden shift, she pulled back, her expression breaking into something lighter, almost teasing. She gestured toward the slab of meat resting on a stone platter near the fire. It was a fine cut… thick, marbled with fat, the kind of thigh meat taken from a herbivore that promised both strength and flavor.
Her smile widened, half challenge, half invitation. "Well? Show me if you can tame it."
