Page 92 of Her Wicker Guardian

Still, this is better.

I can want him. My body has already made its position on that embarrassingly clear. But wanting him doesn’t mean I get to pretend we understand this in the same way.

I dump the popcorn into the biggest bowl I own and carry it back to the living room.

Locke looks at the bowl. “That is popcorn?”

“That’s popcorn.”

“You said corn was yellow.”

“Corn has hidden talents.”

I sit down again and put the bowl between us.

“There. Movie tradition.”

Locke studies the popcorn, then reaches into the bowl and picks up one piece. He turns it between his fingers, examining the white folds and the little yellow center.

I’m reaching for the remote when it hits me.

“Wait.”

His hand stops.

“You’ve never eaten anything.”

“I drink water.”

“I know. But you’ve never eaten food.”

He looks at the popcorn in his hand. “No.”

I’ve been so busy thinking about why I needed the popcorn between us that I forgot what I was putting there. Locke has never tasted anything. I have no idea what happens to food inside him. He’s never complained of hunger, only thirst. Maybe he’ll absorb it somehow, the way he does water.

I take a piece and eat it. “This is how.”

“I know how mouths work.”

“Fair point.”

He puts the popcorn into his mouth.

I watch him chew once. Then he stops and his eyes widen.

“Are you okay?”

He chews again, more slowly.

“Locke?”

“It is loud.”

I blink. “The popcorn?”

“In my head.”

That gets me laughing, and some of the tension I brought back from the kitchen finally breaks. “That’s the crunch.”