Author's Note: My apologies for this chapter taking so long. I try to get them out in a week's time, but Real Life has been particularly harsh these past few weeks. Had a Covid-19 scare with my mom (who is 82), but it turned out to be double pneumonia (in both lungs). Still, until we got her test results back, I couldn't think of anything else. In truth, I couldn't really relax until she was discharged from the hospital.
My muse has slowly returned. All the lovely comments, reviews, and kudos have a lot to do with that. Thank you all! You are the best!
Also, I have been told that my chapters involving food tend to make the reader a bit peckish, so here is a list of the recipes I used.
Chapter 3 - Cheese Ravioli with Three Pepper Topping
Chapter 4 - Savory Garlic Marinated Steaks & Gourmet Chicken Sandwich
Chapter 6 - Chicken Cordon Bleu 1 ; Famous Butter Rice ; Baby Lettuce Salad with Raspberries, Cranberries, and Feta,
Chapter 7 - Pan-Seared Halibut with Kentucky Bourbon ; Glazed Carrots ; Stovetop Beef Stew for Two ; Grilled Balsamic Chicken Salad with Spiced Pecans
Enjoy!
T.G.I.F.
Unbeknownst to Shai, her Friday is going to veer off schedule, off course, right off the road, and down a steep embankment. Whether she stops safely before tumbling off the edge of the precipice remains to be seen. Her morning begins strangely. She wakes to find herself tucked deep into her down pillows, snuggling her duvet like a security blanket. That, in itself, is not abnormal. Shai's a cuddler. The lamp is turned off. Again, odd, but nothing new. However, the sketches she left strewn over the bed last night are now stacked on the dresser along with her drawing pad and pencil. How they ended up there is no great mystery. Did she really believe her lamp was turning itself off every night? Or her novel magically closing and levitating to rest on her bedside chest? No, she knew all along. She should be furious or, at the very least, concerned with him entering her room without permission, especially while her body and mind are in a state of unconsciousness. But she's not, and that is the strangest element of all to come to light this morning.
After breakfast, she spends the morning dusting and vacuuming the living area. Seems fitting. She started the week this way, she should end the week this way. She times her work to finish around lunch, storing the vacuum away as the oven clock changes from eleven thirty four to thirty five. She unwraps her leftover pizza, arranges it on a plate, and reheats it in the microwave. While waiting, she pulls out the cookbooks and the partially completed menu. Perhaps she is being premature in her critique, but Shai deems this past week a culinary success. The general enjoyed his meals without complaint, even bestowed on her praise after their first meal together.
She sits at the island bar with her deep dish pizza, a fork in one hand and a pencil in the other. A little wiser than the week before, she finishes the menu in no time. The grocery list is completed shortly after. She has moved on to reviewing her daunting pasta recipe for this evening's meal when the front door opens. She jerks from the unexpectedness and sends her fork sailing over the island to land clanging on the floor. She turns to see the general closing the door behind him. No kendo uniform today; a steel-grey long-sleeved t-shirt, black joggers, and light running shoes. His hair is bound behind his back, his fringe draped over his chest. His torso heaves from exertion.
Shai makes a concerted effort not to inspect him too long this time, his departing words from the night before forefront in her mind. Instead, she slips off the stool, picks up her fork, deposits it in the dishwasher, and takes a clean one from the drawer. She sidesteps to the refrigerator and grabs a bottle of water. She turns on her heel to take it to him and seize this opportunity to apologize for her brazen behaviour last night and almost smacks right into him. It does not seem to matter what shoes don his feet, he moves with the stealth of a jungle cat. With their eyes locked on one another's, Shai lifts the bottle in front of him like a tribal offering, and he slowly pulls it from her hands.
"Thank you."
You are welcome. He uncaps the bottle, takes a healthy swig and wipes his mouth with the back of his sleeve. He looks down to see Shai patiently waiting.
General?
"Yes?"
I am so sorry for my improper display last evening. I will not behave in that way again. He cocks an eyebrow and a smile dusts his lips.
"In what way, Shai?" Dear gods! Is he toying with her?
In that way. You know. Shai widens her eyes and drops her mouth open in an over-the-top exaggeration of a woman's features at the sight of an extraordinary example of masculinity.
"Mmm. Think nothing of it. I'm familiar with that expression. Although, I don't recall yours looking quite so comical." Shai either wants to disappear into the aether or stomp on his foot hard enough to bruise his toes. She will have to make do with flaming red cheeks and a worried lower lip. He finishes off the bottle, hands it to her, and chuckles to himself as he walks by to go to his room. She hears the door latch click into place. She releases her frustration on the bottle, the plastic snapping and crackling loudly as she collapses it in on itself before throwing it into the recycling bin. She sits back down at the island and finishes her lunch.
Shai assumes that the general is going to shower, change clothes, and go to work. She is correct about the shower, though it is lengthier than usual. She is correct about him changing his clothes, though instead of office dress, he comes out of his room in jeans and a black v-neck pullover sweater, his hair dry and pouring like liquid silver down his back and chest. Her winning streak comes to a surprising end when the general takes the large, square decorative pillows from the secondary couch that faces the windows, and props them on one end of the couch in front of the fireplace. He leans back against them and stretches his legs out across the cushions, his book in hand. Is he taking the day off? Shai hops off the stool and approaches him.
Anything I can get you, general?
"Not at the moment. Perhaps, later."
OK. She walks back to the island. She folds the menu into thirds and places it in the cookbook to mark the page for tonight's recipe. She grabs the grocery list and walks to her room. She had intended to use her time after lunch to go to the store, drop off the list, and make arrangements for next week's delivery. It is part of her job, after all, so she sees no reason it should be an issue just because he is home. She slips on her ankle boots, her cardigan, wraps a knitted scarf around her neck, and pulls the elastic from her hair, letting it fall in its typical unruly mass all around her shoulders and back. She slips the list into her satchel and walks out into the living area.
"Where are you going?" She stops, her heart skipping a beat or two. Shai pulls the list from her bag, walks over, and hands it to him.
I am going to the store to drop off the grocery list for next week's menu. He hands the list back to her. His eyes follow her fingers as she folds and slides the paper back into her satchel. His eyes shine when he sees her biting her lower lip as she rummages through its contents before slinging it over her head and shoulder and adjusting it to hang against her right hip. His eyes focus on the few rogue curls at her temples brushing her cheeks as she fills a small water bottle at the dispenser in the refrigerator door. His eyes appreciate the curly waves of dark brown that sway and bounce against her back as she moves about her business. He snaps his book close. Shai jumps to attention.
"I'm coming with you." Shai's eyes widen in shock. He stands and stretches, his sweater rising a fraction above his waistline, giving her a peek of skin and taut muscle. On his way to his room, he misinterprets her reaction.
"You forgot to drop your mouth open."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
He comes out several minutes later and, this time, Shai's lips do part. She is accustomed to seeing the major length of his hair in a ponytail, but now? His fringe is swept back from his face and secured in with the longer strands. So many thoughts and questions rush at her. Has anyone else had the privilege of seeing him this way? Why is he wearing it brushed back now? My gods, he is so incredibly stunning: the gentle slope of silver above his eyes, lashes as black as coal splayed in a broad fan, a slight widow's peak on his brow, the dip of his cupid's bow, that full bottom lip, the flawlessness of his skin- Oh no! What are you doing?! You're gawking! Again! Shai quickly looks elsewhere, but seconds too late. That cocky brow is raised and his eyes are bright. She fidgets with her scarf and pretends not to notice. He hides his hair under a three quarter length black leather coat and tops his head with a wool bucket hat. His finishing touch is a pair of opaque sunglasses to hide his eyes.
"Let's go." He makes his way out the door, Shai following like a trained canine on the heels of their master. There is no one in the elevator when it dings open on their floor, but that does not last long. Soon, men and women file into the car, but instead of whispers and sidelong glances, they face forward, toy soldiers arranged in rows. His disguise may work on the public, on ordinary citizens, but on the employees of Shinra, General Sephiroth will always be recognized. Shai must admit she is enjoying a certain amount of satisfaction standing next to him, but also knows that speculation regarding their acquaintance will only increase, the gossip will grow louder, the stares will last longer.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Shai leads him to a unique structure several blocks away from the Shinra building. The façade is comprised of distinct architectural styles giving the illusion of a village main street lined with boutique shops, but when you walk through any of the shop doors, you enter one dwelling. They have barely passed through one of the entrances, past the displays of fresh fruit and vegetables and buckets of seasonal bouquets, when a portly woman Sephiroth would place in her fifties half-walks, half-jogs over to Shai and throws her arms around her. Shai reciprocates, steps back, smiles, and signs hello. The older woman is soon joined by a man, as slender and angular in his shape as she is short and rotund in hers. Together, they look like a caricature of a typical shopkeeper and his wife. Shai has passed the grocery list to her and she is reading it loudly to her husband when Sephiroth moves from his place near the entry to stand by Shai's side, his height casting a shadow over the paper. The wife goes quiet, and the couple turn to get a proper look at this stranger.
"Shai!" the wife suddenly exclaims, "Who is this strapping young man? Your boyfriend, perhaps?" Sephiroth looks down at Shai who seems to have been stunned into inaction, an understudy thrust into the spotlight, unprepared for the pressure of performing.
"We are friends spending the day together," he says, piping up before too much time has passed to make any answer sound plausible.
"How lovely!" yells the wife, "But what a shame you are not a couple. You make such a striking pair!"
"Thank you. You are most kind. Isn't she, Shai?" Sephiroth presses his hand into the small of her back, discreetly easing her out of her stupor. Shai blinks a few times then beams at the proprietor and his wife and nods emphatically. The wife clasps her hands at her bosom and returns Shai's smile.
"Such a beautiful young lady!" she shouts, "Isn't she beautiful?" Shai's face turns as red as the vine-ripened tomatoes arranged with the organic veggies.
"Yes, she is." Sephiroth's smile and smooth baritone charm the sweet lady and her good husband. Through the woven threads of Shai's sweater and the fine fabric of her shirt, his fingertips feel a hitch in her breath, a sudden rush of heat from her skin, and the deep beating of her heart. He drops his hand to his side.
"Have we finished here, Shai? The day awaits." She takes a deep breath and finishes her business, indicating a day and time printed on the list to the wife and her husband.
"Of course!" the husband shouts, "Go and enjoy the rest of your day!" The wife and Shai hug each other goodbye. Sephiroth shakes the proprietor's hand. Once outside and on their way back home, Sephiroth is free to ask the question he's been wanting to ask since the wife jovially greeted Shai.
"Why were they shouting at you?"
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
By the time they get home, it is time for Shai to start prepping for dinner. The general goes into his bedroom and removes his disguise. He comes out shortly after, lights the fire, takes up his place on the couch, and resumes his reading. By then, Shai is bustling about the kitchen, referencing the recipe as she pulls ingredients from the fridge and pantry. She brushes the grill with vegetable oil while it preheats and sets a pot of salted water on the stove to boil. Her eyes dart back and forth from the cookbook to her hands as she measures seasonings out in teaspoons and tablespoons. She sprinkles kosher salt, pepper, and lemon pepper on the steak and heats olive oil in a large skillet.
So immersed in her work, stirring in the brandy with the garlic, but not before removing it from the heat source so it doesn't splatter, that she fails to notice she is being observed in between pages on the philosophy of art and beauty. She is so busy stirring the pappardelle in the pot, adding the diced tomatoes for the sauce into the skillet, and grilling the steak, that she does not see him place the book down on the coffee table and rise from the couch. She is scarcely aware of him coming into the kitchen, while she is stirring the fontina and bleu cheese into the tomatoes, and unlocking a cabinet to the left of the fridge to reveal a wine refrigerator. She almost cuts into her finger while slicing the steak when he pops the cork from a bottle of pinot noir. While she drains the pasta, he takes two wine glasses and the bottle and places them at their table settings.
With the sauce and pasta mixed together, and a plentiful portion on one plate and a modest one on another, she places the strips of steak on the pasta and garnishes it with basil and crumbled bleu cheese. The general is seated at the table pouring the wine, filling the bowl of the glass to a generous half. She sets their meals at their places and seats herself. With their napkins draped across their laps, Sephiroth raises his glass and patiently waits for Shai, who takes a moment or two to realize that he expects her to do the same. No salutations of any kind expressed, just two wine glasses ringing clear and true.
"What are we eating tonight?" he asks, swirling the wine's aroma to rise to the rim before taking a slow taste.
Steakhouse pasta. She takes her time spelling out the name. He gives a gradual nod of his head and begins his meal. Shai joins him. She spends much of her dinner deciding how many bites of food are acceptable between sips of wine, not wanting to give the impression she is either reluctant or greedy. She is relieved when she empties her glass only to have the general refill it to half. Shai can already feel the heated flush in her cheeks from the alcohol and that is from a single serving. She is such a lightweight. She glances at her dinner partner. He has consumed twice as much as she and yet appears the same as he did at the start of their meal. She has noticed he is eating twice as fast as he normally does and even asked if there is more. Luckily, the recipe was for six servings and Shai is able to fill his plate a second time.
The last of the bottle is poured into her glass, the final drops forming concentric circles across the surface of the deep red liquid. Shai's third glass of wine. Not only is her face as hot as a noon day sun, but her mind is buzzing pleasantly. Had she been sitting with Dr. Moreau, she would be relaxed, laughing, and signing in grand, exaggerated movements, but with the general? She's doing everything in her power not to have a fit of the giggles, never thinking she would find herself in this situation with her client; a dinner with wine by firelight. The more she tries to restrain herself, the more ridiculous she finds her circumstances. For the first time in her life, she is thankful she has no voice.
The dinner concludes with the general picking away at Shai's leftover pappardelle while she finishes her wine. Cleaning up the kitchen and dining area takes her more time than usual, no longer worried over spasmodic gasps and titters and more concerned about dropping plates and pots and creating a ruckus while the general is trying to read. Not only is Shai a lightweight when it comes to drinking, but she can become uncoordinated as well. An hour goes by before she finishes by pressing the on button for the dishwasher. She walks to the end of the couch and waits for him to look up from his reading. He continues on, already knowing what she is going to ask.
"I'm fine, Shai. Thank you." His eyes rise to meet hers, their natural intensity causing the flush on her cheeks to spread to the shell-like curves of her ears.
You know where to find me should you need anything. She leaves. He waits several minutes then silently closes his book. All the while she was busying herself in the kitchen, he pretended to read. He saw words, syntax, and paragraphs, but paid no attention to them. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, listened to her with his enhanced hearing. He remembers, now, how the wine reddened her lips, and soon after darkened her cheeks. He remembers how she had to repeatedly stab at the large noodles before her fork would find purchase in the pasta, how she closed her eyes with the first bite of steak.
He wanted to tell her how he enjoyed spending the afternoon with her, how it helped to calm him in a way that even a vigorous workout was unable to do. He wanted to have a real conversation with her during dinner, but when the time came? He reverted to his rooted sobriety. Monday is approaching faster than he would like. His treatment, as well as the conversation during Thursday night's dinner, is preying on his mind. He needed to get away today. Away from all things related to Shinra, SOLDIER, and floor 68. He had thought he needed to be alone. Sephiroth sits upright on the couch, facing the fire, watching the curves and twists of the flames. How wrong he had been.
