There was a comfort in Dean. Beyond his protective nature, how he had dashed into the fray to save her without hesitation, how he gave her his number in case she could not fight off boys, there was so much of him that reminded Hild of home. Seeing him guard his personal pie like a dog with his bone was one such way. (He did not remind her of the dogs, but of all the eager men at a feast, more concerned with eating and drinking than conversation, as it should be.)

Noting that he had gotten himself an entire pie but nothing to wash it down with, Hild approached his booth bearing a pitcher of beer and two glasses. She slid into the seat across from him without waiting for invitation or notice and poured them each a glass.