Scent of Home

"Great!" She is somewhat taken aback by his sudden enthusiasm, but flashes a smile in response, pleased to have evidently offered something right. Food is easy, food is safe, and with it as a common ground Amalia can find her feet, feel stable in her knowledge of how to do this right, at least. She gestures to the table in the front of the shop, and the shelf with plates and knives beside. "Mind setting up while I grab the food?" Amalia retreats to the back of the shop to gather her supplies, humming absently as she does. Her grandmother used to throw dinner parties when the nights grew short and warm. Perhaps she ought to do the same- But who would come? a cruel voice whispers, Outlanders who only tolerate you when you are helping? Naturals who know better, who have seen your nani's parties and will know how much you've failed? Adam, who stays because you've offered to feed him, but clearly cannot wait to escape? She shakes her head, balls her fists, tries to push away the thoughts that swirl around her like so many gnats. Swallowing down her insecurities the girl returns to the front of the store, smile a little dimmer, not quite in her eyes. She begins to set the spread upon the table: dry meat, stashed away through winter; bread that did not sell the day before, but is still far more than palatable; jams and preserves, berry and onion; and a small but precious portion of goat cheese, fresh from Rory's farm. Sitting down on one of the benches, Amalia begins to serve herself a portion of bread and cheese. "Help yourself," she offers earnestly, anxiously eyeing the slender man. She hopes that this is adequate, backwards as it is. She hopes that she has done something right. amalia been talking to myself forever and how I wish I knew me better