Page 24 of Recipe for a Curse

Everyone was very intent on Rio eating, and Rio looked a bit like a caged tiger in that moment, starving but wanting away from everything.

“I’m going to take Rio to eat in the kitchen,” I said. “I want to keep an eye on the bread.” Not that it would do much in the proofer while I was away from it, but it sounded like a good excuse. “Will we be able to get to town tomorrow to drop off bread for the food bank?” I hoped I’d be able to get some supplies too, like fresh fruit for Rio.

“Sure. I’ve been out helping the county plow some of the smaller roads, and people’s driveways as I can. Snow is done, but the wind is still high and blowing everything around. And that cold is brutal. It’s negative four out there, and that’s not accounting for the wind chill.” Zach looked at Rio. “You should probably plan to stay here at least a few days.”

“I don’t want to be a burden,” Rio said quietly.

“You’re not,” Zach said. He glanced at Sean, but then back at Rio. “Just be sure you eat as much as you need. The house is stocked, and Montana is an excellent chef.”

I looked back and forth from Zach to Sean, wondering what the obsession with Rio eating was. Yes, he was thin, but it wasn’t like he was suddenly going to go raving mad and eatus. “I promise to keep him fed.” I put my hand over my heart, like I was vowing to care for a puppy we’d found in a ditch or something. It felt a little silly, as Rio was a grown man. But I wanted to take care of him.

Zach nodded and gave me a warm smile before making his way over to Sean, who accepted a soft kiss on the lips before they both made their way to the table for food. “Let me get the fire stoked,” Zach told Sean. “We’ll sit over there. I know how much you hate the cold.” He pointed toward the corner near the fireplace.

I took Rio’s hand and tugged him toward the kitchen. I’d left two whole chickens and a dozen twice baked potato halves for Rio. Would he eat it all? It was okay if he didn’t, as long as he was full, that was all that mattered.

He hesitated as he watched me put a single chicken leg and a twice baked potato half on my plate and head to the corner booth. I waved at the counter. “Eat. Let me know if you need more.”

He stood there a few moments longer before picking up a plate and filling it with food. I didn’t remark on the volume, or even try to focus on it at all. Instead when he sat down, I turned our conversation toward dinner, and the idea of making a fruit tart for dessert.