Dragon Soul (Dragon Falls, #3)(18)

Sophea cast a glance at him that was half frustration and half amusement. “Sorry I’m taking such poor care of you, Rowan. I’ll be sure to bring you a granola bar and tell you a joke or two tonight when I tuck you into bed.”

“No chocolate?” he asked, joining in with her bantering tone. “I much prefer chocolate over granola bars. Chocolate has aphrodisiac properties, you know.”

Sophea’s cheeks warmed, the bantering tone gone when she fussed with the basket of bread rolls, finally offering him one, but not meeting his eyes. “Ha ha, yes, that’s right. I’d forgotten that. Chocolate for sure.”

He sat down next to her, marveling that a woman who appeared so sophisticated could be so easily rattled by a little flirtatious talk. Not that he had much experience in that area, but still, he liked to think that he could hold up his end of a flirty conversation.

Sophea cleared her throat and made an obvious change of subject. “So, did you see the special of the day is some sort of sausage? It comes with potatoes, and looks really good. I do love me some sausage…”

A horrified look crawled over her face, her cheeks turning pink when she gazed at him.

Rowan had to stifle a laugh at her embarrassment.

“Oh, balls,” she exclaimed, then slapped a hand over her mouth, her face scrunching up and turning even redder.

He just stared at her, trying hard to hold his laughter, since for some bizarre reason that he had yet to fathom, he didn’t want to hurt her feelings. But as he watched her, her shoulders heaved, and tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes. Finally she could stand it no longer and removed her hand to say in a voice choked with laughter, “Tell me I didn’t just announce how much I loved sausage.”

“You did, you know.” He chuckled, relieved to see that she had a good sense of humor and the ability to laugh at her own innuendo. “Not that I can blame you for it—I like a good bit of sausage myself. Gods, now I’m doing it.”

“I do not understand what you are finding so funny, gel,” Mrs. P said in a voice slightly tinged with annoyance. “One minute you were discussing your man’s testicles, which I assume are pleasant to behold because he is a handsome man, although one doesn’t necessarily follow the other. I had a lover once who was quite comely in the face and figure, and yet he had the most repulsive stones I’d ever seen on a man. Imagine, if you will, a withered plum that has sat on the edge of a frog pond—”

“No, Mrs. P,” Sophea interrupted, shoving a roll at the old lady. “We are not going to hear about your poor boyfriend’s testicles. It’s not pertinent, and I’m sure they were perfectly horrible. Did you look at the menu? You need to eat so you can take the pills your grandson gave me.”

“I don’t have a child, so I don’t see how I could have a grandchild,” Mrs. P told her.

Sophea pointed to her menu.

“Very well,” the old woman said with a sniff. “But I hope you are not this bossy in the bedroom. Men find such things demoralizing, and it makes it difficult for them to raise the sun.”

She buried herself behind the menu while Sophea’s face scrunched up in a delightful manner. “Raise the sun…?”

“Erection, I believe. I could be mistaken, but that’s what I assumed she implied.” He picked up his own menu, and cast a quick glance over it. “I say with all innocence and not the least bit of innuendo that I agree the sausage special sounds like the best choice.”

She snorted a little, but managed to keep from either blushing again or bursting into laughter. She did lean over to help the old woman go over the dinner choices. Rowan watched her as she read the small print, explaining what the various dishes were. The more he was around Sophea, the more she puzzled him. Dragons and their mates could be deceitful just like anyone else, but he wasn’t catching the least whiff of that with her. Instead, she was treating the thief just as if she were a perfectly normal old lady, and Sophea was her caregiver.

He shook his head to himself. He needed to stop being so sympathetic and remember why he was there.

“I think you would enjoy the pasta, but I refuse to ask where they got their olive oil from. I’m sure it’s perfectly fine even if it wasn’t imported from Greece.”

“That shows what you know,” Mrs. P said with a knowing smile. “Take a word from me, gel, and never say that in front of Zeus. He’s always been adamant that the cradle of western civilization is Athens.”

Rowan signaled the sole waiter that they were ready.

“Zeus is a mythical god,” Sophea argued. “So he’s hardly likely to be upset if I say that good olive oil comes from places other than Greece.”

“Where did you get that idea?” Mrs. P asked her, rearranging her silverware into first one arrangement, and then another.

Rowan absently noted that his silverware was missing.

“About the olive oil?”

“No, that Zeus isn’t real.”

“I don’t know, maybe… reality?” Sophea said, pulling Mrs. P’s handbag from the floor, and deftly extracting Rowan’s silverware from it. She hesitated a moment, shot the old woman a telling look, and pulled from the bag a small vase containing a single rosebud. The water was still in the vase.

“You know her better than I do,” Mrs. P said, addressing him. “Is she refusing to admit the truth, or is she just ignorant?”