Page 53 of Dark Shaman: Love Found
"She was the one he saved, but they weren't meant to be, and they separated. He found the one that was meant for him, and Carol found Lokan. They both had their happy endings."
"That's nice." Arezoo turned to look at the scenery again. "I like happy endings."
Traffic was light, as he expected it to be for Saturday morning, and they made good time to the city.
"You're a very careful driver," Arezoo observed.
"I'm transporting precious cargo. I need to be careful."
"I'm not that fragile, Ruvon."
"You are." He glanced at her quickly before returning his attention to the road. "You are still human, Arezoo."
"Yes." She closed her eyes briefly. "I am. And I don't know how to drive. Can you teach me?"
The sudden change of topic took him by surprise. "I'll be happy to. We can find an empty parking lot somewhere and practice the basics."
"Thank you." She was quiet for a moment. "You're precious to me too, Ruvon, but since you are indestructible, and you don't participate in any fighting, I don't have to worry about you."
He didn't know if he should be flattered or offended that she didn't worry about him or think of him as a fighter. Then again, he wasn't a fighter at heart, never had been, and it was good that she liked him for who he was.
The Persian restaurant he'd found online was tucked between a dry cleaner and a bookstore on a street lined with small businesses. The scents of saffron and grilled meat wafted out as they entered, and Ruvon watched Arezoo's face transform.
"It smells wonderful in here." She breathed in deeply.
They were seated at a small table by the window, and Arezoo began studying the menu.
"Everything looks so good," she said.
"Order whatever you'd like for both of us," Ruvon said. "I don't really know what's good."
They ended up ordering too much food. Something named tahdig with two kinds of stew, kabobs and flatbread. As they waited, Arezoo told him about learning to cook with her grandmother, how the old woman would never measure anything, instead always adding ingredients by feel and memory.
"She'd say recipes were for people who didn't trust their instincts," Arezoo said. "That cooking was about love, not measurements."
He didn't know how to respond to that so he just smiled.
"I think she would have liked you."
"She would?"
Arezoo nodded. "You're patient, kind, and you listen more than you talk." She smiled. "And you appreciate poetry."
When their food arrived, covering the entire table with colorful dishes, Arezoo made a small sound of delight at the golden crust of the tahdig, which was perfectly crispy and fragrant.
As she explained each dish, sharing bites across the table, it felt intimate, domestic, like something they'd done a hundred times before and would do a thousand times more.
When the server brought Turkish coffee at the end, Arezoo sighed contentedly. "I'm so full I might need to be rolled to the museum."
"We could skip it," Ruvon offered. "Walk around the shops instead."
"No." She reached across the table to touch his hand. "I want to see the art. I love sharing beautiful things with you."
He turned his hand palm up, an invitation, and she laced their fingers together.
"Can I tell you something?" she asked.
"Anything."
