92Later, Noah and Becca faced the remains of their meal. The meat had been cooked to a perfect medium-rare, each cut courtesy of the ranch's pampered cattle.
“Don't you ever feel bad about consuming your friends?” Becca popped another morsel of steak in her mouth, using her fingers. “Oh, geez! Sorry. Must be the wine.” She stared at her empty glass.
“Not at all. They live pampered lives and are put down humanely.” He spread his hands. “What are you sorry about?” Noah tilted his head.
“I ate with my fingers.”
“And…you think that's a problem of some kind?”
“Um…let's just say I was raised in a rather anal household. When I was little and I would get chicken drumsticks as a treat, I had to wrap a paper napkin around the bone before I could eat it. No touching the food with my fingers.”
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