Page 6 of Up in Smoke

I can’t believe you slept through that.

Saturday, May 30, 2043.

New Orleans, Louisiana.

The South.

Thanksto boundary conditions and a mechanical problem with the plane, our flight was delayed by eight hours. The boundary conditions worried me more than the mechanical problem.

Mechanical problems could be fixed—and were fixed before we were allowed to board.

The boundary conditions could kill us along with everyone else. My worries grew to a stomach-gnawing fear, and Sandro made a point of holding my hand during the wait whenever I started to fidget or turn my ears back.

My fox appreciated his touch, and I found his presence kept me from bolting to the general safety of the expressways surrounding the airport. While playing in traffic on a busy highway hardly counted as safe, at least I understood how cars worked and what happened if I were to be hit by one.

Somehow, we survived the flight, touching down in New Orleans at a horrific two-thirty in the morning.

While the flight attendants had been prepared for the boundary crossing, blitzing through had left just about everyone on board sicker than hell and regretting the choice to fly rather than take the train. Sandro had prepared for the transition by taking a nap. I suffered from some queasiness, although I’d fared better than most on board.

While we could have fled the plane first, due to being close to the front, I opted to give Sandro a chance to wake up while watching everyone else disembark.

“I can’t believe you slept through that,” I told him, huffing over his coping method.

“I pass out when I cross boundaries in a plane, so it is better to just be asleep when it happens. Were you all right?”

“My stomach got cranky, but that was it. Most of the passengers lost their pre-boundary snacks. I thought the flight attendants were exaggerating when they passed around the bags. Now I understand why they didn’t serve dinner until after we crossed through.”

“I missed dinner?”

“I ate yours. It was terrible,” I informed him.

He laughed. “Got used to Dad’s cooking, did you?”

“Your father’s cooking makes a very compelling argument for going along with this courtesan nonsense, Sandro. But your salsa beats his cooking. I’m going to be really upset if you can’t make salsa while in New Orleans.”

“I brought a stash of dried peppers in my luggage, although it won’t be as good as fresh. I think I can get the ingredients in New Orleans. If so, I’m happy to make you more salsa. I’m almost as good a cook as my father.”

I gasped. “Really?”

“Yep.”

I spent the rest of the wait to disembark weighing the pros and cons of marrying Sandro solely for his salsa and cooking abilities. My fox made her stance clear within the first minute of my internal debate: only marriage would do, preferably before winter so we could enjoy him properly.

With no other reasons left to deny my fox, I opted to compromise with her. We’d pursue Sandro, but he needed to make appropriate displays of interest as well.

I refused to roll over unless he was equally enthusiastic about the idea.

However, nothing in my rules stated I couldn’t inform him he could pursue the matter. Then I’d put up a fight because the chase appealed to me almost as much as being caught—as long as he was the one doing the catching.

Once the plane emptied, I unbuckled and got to my feet so I could dig out our bags from the overhead bin. “Okay. You can try to convince me to marry you now.”

Sandro laughed. “That was quick. What did I do to earn an upgrade?”

“You can cook, I love your salsa, and you’re willing to cook for me at the appropriate intervals. I’ve spent all of my adult life scavenging. My idea of a good meal is a can of something warmed up over a fire.” That wasn’t quite true; once upon a time, I’d loved to cook, but it’d been so long I feared I’d forgotten how. My mother had taught me, and I’d loved the challenge of turning ingredients into something delicious.

After leaving home, I’d learned to settle with what I had.

The quadrant mage shuddered. “I have higher standards than that. Although I won’t lie, every now and then, I do it for fun, usually with hot dogs over a campfire.”