his cheek. “I think I knew, too. The first time I saw you something sort of clicked. Hope that doesn’t sound weird.”
“It doesn’t.”
“And I hope you’re okay with the hand holding. I don’t want you to think I’m being all clingy.”
Grantian chuckles and tugs me along. “I like it when you’re clingy. Just so long as you refrain from doing so during active combat.”
“I don’t think PDAs are much use in battle, Grantian.”
His brow furrows in confusion. “That did not translate into Galactic Standard.”
I slap my forehead in mock admonishment. “Sorry, it’s a Terran phrase. It stands for ‘public displays of affection.’ You’d be surprised how squeamish some men are about being seen doing stuff like this where people can see.”
He scoffs and shakes his horned head. “Then they are fools.”
“I always thought so. But you’re an ex-Hael Hound. No one is going to think you’re anything other than the manliest of men.”
“Damn right.”
We share a laugh and hook a left into the mess hall. A few tables are occupied, but I can’t tell if it’s leftovers from the breakfast crowd or just people having an early lunch. We move over to the counter where Jax whistles to himself while cleaning out a pot.
“Any chance we can get an early lunch, Jax?”
He smiles at us and hangs the pot on a hook near his stove. “You’re in luck. I’ve just come up with my take on a Terran classic—Beetle Nut squash soup.”
I arch an eyebrow and look up at him.
“You mean butternut squash, right?”
His eyes widen slightly and then he starts ladling out orange, lumpy morass into two bowls. “So anyway, let me know what you think.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Sure I did. I said, ‘You’re in luck. You can have an early lunch.’”
I decide to give up on getting a straight answer out of him and instead follow Grantian to a table near the corner. Rather than sitting across from him, as he clearly expected, I slide into the seat next to him until our hips are snugly touching.
The soup turns out to be delicious, even after I pick what looks an awful lot like an insectoid appendage out of my teeth. Does it taste like butternut squash? Not really, but it does have a rich flavor reminiscent of Terran lamb.
“So, once we reach Tartus, what does Solair intend to do?”
Grantian snaps his gaze over to me for a moment before he dunks a hard biscuit into his soup. “We’ve put plans in motion in case there’s a firefight, but we made those decisions before I spoke with Zarp. Now, I’m not certain the direct approach is the best way to proceed, particularly if the IHC is involved.”
“I see. Then what would be the best course of action, in your opinion?”
Grantian’s lips become a thin, tight line. “That’s none of your concern.”
“Oh, no you don’t.” I shake my head vehemently. “We’ve been together less than twenty-four hours. You’re not shutting me out already.”
Grantian sighs and munches on his biscuit. I give him time to gather his thoughts. I’m patient, sometimes.
“The best course of action would be espionage. Entering the slave markets with a willing volunteer from the Frontier crew posing as, er, forgive the term, but merchandise. No one will give a second glance to us if we appear to belong there.”
“That’s a good plan, Grantian.” He nods and offers me a silent toast with his coffee. “I’m a willing volunteer from the Frontier crew.”
Grantian spits his coffee out in alarm and then hastily grabs a napkin to mop up the resulting mess. “No, Lamira. Don’t do this to me. I beg you. I can’t bear the thought of putting you in harm’s way.”
“It’s my decision, not yours. And besides, I’ll have you to look out for me. You’re not going to let anything bad happen to your fated mate. Are you?” I bat my eyes at him, and Grantian’s face contorts with inner turmoil.
“I don’t—I would have to run it past the captain.”
“Oh please. Solair adores you. He’s likely to do whatever you suggest.”
Grantian’s lips stretch in a thin, tight smile. “I know better than to try and argue with you, Lamira. It appears my best bet to keep you safe is to help facilitate your involvement however possible.”
I do a little dance in my seat. “Thank you for not being a dick about it. Now, do you know what this means?”
“Ah—that we’ll be going on a sortie together?”
I blanch, and then cock my head to the side.