14
It was dark outside when we made our way back downstairs to the kitchen. Dim lights reflected off the stainless steel appliances. They were either automatic or so subtle that people with too much money to be bothered by an electric bill never turned them off. Bran turned on a pendant lamp over the stove, but left the rest of the room in low light. I sat at the kitchen table, one of those long wooden affairs that looked like it was made with planks from the Mayflower, while Bran rummaged from fridge to freezer to pantry. I felt privileged, about to have a second man in two days prepare a meal for me. Of course, no one who had tasted my cooking, as Bran had, would want me to take part in the prep. Bran also had a pretty limited repertoire, but there was one thing he made particularly wel
