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Epimetheus sat on one of the stools positioned along the counter separating the kitchen from the living room. He’d overdone it with fixing the water damage and telling her it never existed. He felt how hard it was for her to stretch her imagination enough to accept his story. But the fact remained that humans preferred a pretty lie to an ugly truth, and he suspected the truth was he’d somehow caused the earthquake that burst the pipe.
His dream of Rhea was as vivid as the memory of Elpida’s fragile neck in his grasp. If he was right, his stress over Rhea’s threat was what unleashed some of his power in his sleep. And that was beyond worrisome. Titans were supposed to have absolute power and absolute command over it. How could he be... leaking without being aware of it? And what if next time he hurt Elpida? There had been faint red marks around her neck when she’d left the room. He’d been their cause, and he’d never allow himself to harm her again.
No doubt this was what Rhea wanted. She’d outright said so. But what was it to her if Elpida died at his hand? If Rhea was still around, she could snap Elpida’s neck in reality, if she desired. There was no reason for dramatics.
He had a hard time believing she had Epimetheus’ best interest at heart, but she always favored her youngest son, Zeus, above all. What if Elpida somehow held the key to defeating him? But the cop’s memories said Zeus was gone, along with the rest of the Olympians.
Ugh, thinking wasn’t Epimetheus’ thing, and this was why. You could chase your tail for hours, second-guessing everything and seeking ulterior motives. Epimetheus trusted his gut, and he’d seldom been wrong. Even with Pandora, and despite what she brought on to humanity, he’d been right about the most important thing—her heart was good and filled with love.
Elpida stepped into the room, and all thought stalled. She wore a long sweater and a pair of socks. Her legs looked impossibly long for someone of her diminutive statute, and with her hair pulled back like yesterday and no makeup on, she looked fresh and ethereal.
He stood and willed her to go to him for a kiss. It didn’t work. She rounded the bench instead, and he followed her into the kitchen.
With a timid smile, she said, “How do you feel about a very late breakfast?”
On the wall behind her, the kitchen clock showed it was after three in the afternoon, not that that affected Epimetheus’ appetite. Still, she had to see him eat at some point. “I’m up for it if you are.”
“I’m starving.” She laughed when her stomach stressed her point. “How about omelet? I have spinach, mushrooms, cheese, bacon—the works.”
He shrugged. He’d never tasted an omelet, but his borrowed memory of it seemed good. “Sure. Can I help?”
Elpida pursed her lips, and he wanted to claim them again. Wanted to lift her on that bench and take her. But she had to eat first. “You can make the coffee,” she said.
He skimmed through what he’d learned of this world and found that coffee was a powerful stimulant and some people’s basic nutrient, but he had no clue how to make it. He couldn’t let her see how lost he was. Chaos, what to do now?
“Oh wait. You mostly drink frappe in Thessaloniki, right?” She widened her eyes almost imperceptibly before ducking into the fridge, but he caught it. “That’s probably one of those stupid stereotypes. Never mind. I’ll make us two freddos. I make a mean iced cappuccino. You’ll love it.”
She was rumbling as she pulled stuff out of the refrigerator and lined it up on the bench, and he thought he knew why. “Who said I’m from Thessaloniki?” he asked. In his mind, he saw a map of modern Greece, and Thessaloniki was further north than Mount Othrys that was his home.
“Oh I just assumed.” She pressed a button on the coffee maker, and broke four eggs into a bowl while the thing whirred to life. “Okay. I’m lying. I looked you up.”
“Where?” He was genuinely perplexed. There ought to be no sign of him in any legal document. Unless Prometheus’ reach had been longer than just to the Volos police department.
“Online.” She wouldn’t meet his gaze, just whisked the eggs. “I probably shouldn’t, but you weren’t very forthcoming with the information, and I was antsy, and... I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. Maybe last night freaked me out a little.”
Like his Pandora, she was curious. Unlike her, she’d done nothing that would wreak chaos upon the world. Epimetheus took the bowl from her hands and set it aside, before silencing her with a deep kiss. “It’s okay. I understand.”
“You do?”
He nodded. “Find anything interesting?”
“Nothing. Just that you have a brother,” she said with a grimace.
Epimetheus laughed. “I have four. Prometheus is my twin, but there’s also Coeus, Hyperion, Atlas, and Kronos.”
“Your parents are seriously into mythology, huh?”
He smiled. She didn’t know the half of it.
Elpida went on. “Though if I remember correctly—big mythology buff here—the Titans with those names weren’t all brothers.”
“That’s because those who wrote the stories got things wrong,” Epimetheus said before thinking better of it.
Elpida arched a brow, eyes twinkling with mirth. “But you know the true story, huh? Were you there?” She picked up a mushroom and started slicing it, her attention no longer on him. It was a good thing she didn’t press on. If she had, he’d have come clean. He could no longer lie to her. He wanted to tell her his secrets, open up about his past, and promise her the future.
There was no reason hiding from himself; he never had and never would. He loved her, and he’d find a way to make things work. In the meantime— “How about your family? You mentioned a brother?”
“Yup. He lives in Crete. We have a sister too.” She grabbed an open pack of frozen spinach from the freezer, emptied it in a skillet, turned the stove all the way up, and covered it with a lid that was too big. “She’s a doctor, and he’s a hotel manager. They have two daughters each.” A sad note underlined the cheer in her voice.
“Do you see them often?” he asked.
She glanced at him over her shoulder, lips pursed. “My sister, not so much. My brother, every chance I get. I’m visiting next weekend. Might as well stay longer, now that I’m between jobs.”
He wanted to say, “I’ll come with you,” but she was already jumpy around him. He tried not to feel hurt when he kissed the top of her head and she shrugged away. This morning he’d gone overboard with using his powers, but he’d wanted to please her. He’d do better tonight. Because they’d share a bed again; there was no doubt about that.
He leaned against the countertop beside her and watched as she diced the bacon. The skillet steamed, and she opened the lid and stirred the spinach, then added a little olive oil and two handfuls of mushrooms. He liked how confident her moves were, and the sense of calm she emanated as she stirred in a pinch of salt and pepper.
“Why don’t you see your sister often? Does she live far from here?” Not that Crete was close.
Elpida’s back stiffened, and she let out a startled laugh. “She and I disagree on Manolis’ lifestyle—my brother.” She didn’t say our brother. “She’s so self-righteous and annoying, and refuses to accept that different doesn’t mean wrong. Just because she’s Little-Miss-Perfect... Whatever. Who my brother sleeps with doesn’t change the fact that he’s a good, loving man.” She gave Epimetheus a challenging look, and when he shrugged, went on. “Our parents are fine with him. His daughters don’t seem to mind, and their mother isn’t in the picture since she went back to Germany. And it’s not like it’s our business, you know?”
Epimetheus shrugged again. He’d never doubted he was only attracted to women, but sexuality was a fluid thing in his time, and nobody cared who people enjoyed themselves with.
Her chuckle sounded real this time. “Boy, you’ve opened Pandora’s Box here. When I start ranting about my sister, I don’t shut up.”
“It was a jar.” The words spilled out as he wondered at the lack of stabbing pain when she mentioned Pandora’s name.
She turned to face him and mirrored his position. “What was?”
“What the gods gave Pandora—it was a jar, not a box.”
She crossed her arms and arched one perfect eyebrow. “And how do you know?”
This was his opening. He could come clean about everything. But it was too soon. What if he scared her away for good? “I read it somewhere.”
She returned to her cooking, adding the bacon to the mix. Epimetheus’ glimpse of the cop’s memories hadn’t prepared him for the divine scent that reached his nostrils.
“Pandora’s myth is a typical case of misogyny,” she mused. “The gods created her specifically so she’d unleash all those maladies on humans, but she was the one vilified. I mean, nobody blames your namesake for accepting her as a gift—and don’t get me started on that—even though Prometheus had warned him.”
“He loved her,” Epimetheus whispered.
She snorted and poured the eggs over her concoction. “He hardly knew her. But she was the only human woman around, and she was a prize.”
Could humans have believed him to be that shallow? He’d adored the ground Pandora stepped on. He’d spent all of her mortal life at her side, cherishing her. He mourned her passing for centuries.
“Plate,” Elpida said.
He was too busy wrapping his mind around her accusation, to follow the shift in topic. “What?”
“I need a plate. Actually get me three of them. This will be done in a few, and we’ll want a salad too.” She covered the skillet again and pointed at a cupboard.
Epimetheus wanted to argue his case, but he couldn’t without telling Elpida the whole story. Tomorrow, he promised himself. First, he wanted to sample this taste of normalcy with her.
He brought down plates, and she oversaw while he sliced tomatoes and cucumbers. She drenched them in olive oil, added vinegar and a little salt, and topped it with a slab of feta. Then she served the omelet precisely cut in half.
“I’m usually more generous with guests, but I could eat an ox,” she said with a lopsided grin.
“This is enough for me,” he said.
Elpida lifted a dish in each hand. “Get the salad? Glasses are in the cupboard to the right of the plates, and you can find forks in the top drawer.”
Epimetheus got what she asked for and followed her around the kitchen counter.
She huffed. “I totally forgot the coffee. Since this is more a late lunch than late-late breakfast, want some wine instead?” she asked.
“Sure.” He wanted anything she wanted. He wanted her.
She brought out a chilled bottle and a jug of water, and propped herself on one of the stools, then pointed to the one beside her. “Sit. Dig in.” She cut out a chunk of omelet with her fork, blew on it, and closed her lips around it. “Mmmm...” Her lids fluttered shut.
He waited till his food stopped letting off steam, before trying it. It was incredible. “You’re a great cook,” he said.
She covered her mouth with her hand as she laughed, but he loved the small lines at the corners of her eyes. “I only cook breakfast and anything I can shape into a ball and fry. Meatballs, zucchini fritters, tomatokeftedes—I even make them out of tuna or lentils. Just don’t expect anything more elaborate than that.”
“I’d try anything you cooked for me.”
A lovely flush spread down her cheeks and to her neck, and he wanted to kiss every square centimeter of heated skin.
“I have some minced meat. Maybe I’ll make meatballs for dinner, but we’ll have to order in fries.”
Sounded heavenly. He didn’t realize when he cleaned off his plate, but omelet was now officially his favorite food. And the wine wasn’t bad at all. Alcohol had no effect on him, but he enjoyed the crisp flavor as it slid down his throat.
“What do you want to do today? Or tonight?” Elpida asked.
Her. Repeatedly. “I’m happy staying in with you.”
She blushed again, darker this time. “How do you feel about binge watching period dramas?”
He had no clue what those were, but he said, “Sounds perfect.”
And when she curled up at his side on the couch, it was perfect, even if he didn’t share her enthusiasm for Versailles.
A season or so later, Elpida turned to him, eyes downcast and mouth a thin line. She was about to tell him something he wouldn’t like. “Epimetheus, I’m so sorry, but I don’t think I’m up to making meatballs,” she said. “Mind if we order takeout?”
He didn’t mind at all. He devoured the pasta Bolognese she got him, and when she started yawning, took her hand and led her to bed.