Home was a double wide several hours south with a storm door that shrieked in protest every time it was yanked open then slammed shut in reprimand for passing through. Home had a stand of sunflowers out front that came back every summer and sometimes grew as high as the roof. Home had her father's overflowing ash tray on the porch rail and Vivienne's old sled leaning against the wood pile and a thimbleberry out back.
Vivienne's throat felt tight and she swallowed hard. Not for the first time.
This home had a tray of boots next to the door. She toed off her own and, scuffed and muddy, they fit right in.
This home had a rail of pegs from which hung an assortment of outwear; a statement to the mercurial nature of spring in the north country. A heavy winter jacket hung next to an anorak, which half-concealed a fleece. Nate's canvas jacket joined them.
Vivienne held onto hers and he didn't press.
Alfie dropped her bags heavily at the bottom of the stairs and kicked his shoes somewhere in the direction of the tray. He inhaled deeply through his nose. "Thank god," he groaned.
Vivienne smelled it too. Rich and savory, warm. Welcoming.
Her arms tightened around her jacket. She couldn't tell if the hollow feeling in her stomach was hunger or dread or some confusing mix of both.
"Al said she was going to bring something over," Nate said.
"'Course she did." Alfie shrugged off his coat. "Then she can conviniently come over to pick up her dishes and be the first to meet your kihlattu ."
Betrothed . Vivienne's shoulders twitched, as if she could shrug the title off. It didn't work.
"Alice Koski. Nearest neighbor." Nate clarified for Vivienne.
"And pack gossip." Alfie added.
"Who's worth supplying with material if it means we get her cooking. C'mon," Nate said, stepping aside and cocking his head to gesture Vivienne down the hall, "let's eat then we'll get you settled in."
The venison stew was thick with meat and root vegetables, seasoned with herbs and spices. The sourdough bread Alfie began cutting was still warm in the center.
Vivienne hung back, uncertain.
Nate served her first, casually, ladelling a full bowl from the large pot that simmered gently on the gas stove.
"Thank you." She murmured when he handed it to her, eyes down as she took it.
"You're welcome. Spoons are in the top drawer on the left," he said, already turning his attention to filling the next bowl. She opened the drawer, hesitated a beat, then took three spoons to the table. Alfie set a plate of bread down and dropped into a chair at the small kitchen table. Nate put a bowl of stew in front of him, claiming the last seat with his own bowl in hand.
Vivienne waited, stiff and uncertain, even as Alfie began tearing and dunking chunks of bread into his stew. Nate paused short of starting on his own meal, looking at Vivienne; the way she sat, shoulders tense, hands in her lap, that carefully veiled expression she'd been wearing all day not quite hiding the anxiety pulsing beneath the surface of it all.
She looked lost.
"We don't stand on ceremony around here." His voice was low and soothing when he spoke. She twitched, the smallest flinch, and he caught a brief glimpse of her eyes before they dropped again.
"Go on and eat, honey."
Nate waited for her to pick up her spoon and dip it into the stew. Only then did he reach for the bread himself.
It was delicious.
Vivienne ate slowly and carefully. In contrast, Alfie made borderline indecent sounds as he worked his way through his first bowl of stew with alarming speed. When he pushed his chair back from the table to help himself to seconds. Vivienne's gaze flicked warily to Nate but all he did was ask Alfie to grab him a drink while he was up.
The two men talked over their food, entirely at ease. Their focus on each other and their own meals softened some of the tension in Vivienne's shoulders as she ate.
"—meeting with the elders about it tomorrow," Nate was saying. Alfie leaned back, running a hand through his hair. "Great. So they can hit you with more red tape in the name of pack tradition?"
"Something like that." Nate replied mildly.
"Eat a little more," he said then, and it took Vivienne a moment to realize he was speaking to her. She'd set down her spoon. She blinked, heat rising in her cheeks.
"I'm fine."
"A few more bites." He nodded at the plate in the center of the table, "Have some bread too."
He didn't wait to see if she'd obey, didn't stare her down or let the moment linger. He stood up, chair scraping on the tile floor, picked up his empty bowl, then Alfie's, and carried them to the sink.
Vivienne waited for a stubborn three count after the tap turned on.
Then, ignoring Alfie's smirk, she reached for a piece of bread, dipped it in the stew, and took another bite.