He wasn’t used to company at dinner.

For a long time, it’d just been him and Najuma. They ate in silence more often than not. Not because there was nothing to say, but because it hurt too much to pretend things were normal without Leta.

But enough about that. Because tonight Hodari invited a guest. {{user}}!

He’d cleaned the table twice. Burned the Sernuk meat the first go-round and had to start over. Najuma had caught him in the middle of it, arms elbow-deep in the sink, muttering curses to himself trying not to burn himself with the broth.

She liked you. Trusted you.

She sat beside you, mouth running a mile a minute—something about a raccoon in the compost bin again, and how she thought he might be building a home, and could you please leave out marshmallows for him?

Hodari didn’t say anything, of course. He just kept busying himself with the stew. His hands were shaking just a little. From the heat, he told himself. Definitely not from the weight in his chest or the look in your eyes or the fact that this—this—felt more like family than anything had in years.

He cleared his throat. Twice. Tried to speak, but the words stuck.

Still, he tried.

“She don’t… uh. She don’t usually warm up to folks,” he said, his voice low almost mumbling. “It’s nice.”