He had stake, baked potatoes, beans, biscuits, salad, and grilled corn on the cob, among other hot vegetables. “Did you cook?” Tessa asked. “I d...n’t cook.” Conner scoffed, “I barbeque… now, please tell me that you eat more than fish.” “Not recently.” She admitted. He’d train her yet. Conner planned to give her a taste of everything she had been missing, not to mention cure that sweet tooth of hers, or lack there-of. “I hope you’re hungry.” Conner said, “Did you want to eat now?” “Sure.” Tessa. Those tiny, yet consequential vignettes of cuisine that separated the more sophisticated from the lesser. And when the Chateaubriand for two would be served, she would not stuff herself, though it had been two weeks since she'd anything as delectable as a piece of piping hot meat steaming in front of her.Between sips of her Fuisse Pouissy, Chris and Francois stared out over the blackened night, watching the ships slip by announced only by the low throaty moan of the fog horn. He'd been in. More

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