Red and Tender

Taking the forest path instead of surface streets brought Silas to the house a little earlier than expected. Bad form, he knew. People who showed up early to things had it in mind that everybody built in a buffer, that the whole world was ready at 11:45 instead of kicking their slippers at midnight. Enough people had told Silas they just needed more time. Still, he was here, and there was nothing to do but knock.

The door creaked open, spreading buttery yellow light across the porch. “Silas?”

“Yes,” he said. “Scarlet?”

Her profile said eighty-one, but Silas didn’t believe it. She took a high-heeled step to the left, leopard-print skirt swishing as she ushered Silas in. “When you said ‘wolf’, I thought you meant like ‘lone wolf’ or ‘alpha wolf’.”

“Nope. Wolf wolf.” Silas hunched a little. “Is that okay?”

Scarlet shrugged. “Not what I had in mind, but I’m not one to judge. Do you want to see the kitchen?”

It was spotless, which Silas appreciated. It was one of those kitchens people designed when they had seen what a professional kitchen looked like, but didn’t know what any of the features were for. There was a perplexing island in the middle with a prep sink, a hood vent, and zero power outlets, making it a windy, wet cutting board that was always in the way.

But the oven was a seventy-two inch, self-cleaning combi with programmable steam, and a baker’s rack that rolled out, with room for a human to walk in. Not that one would. Willingly.

“I can work with this,” Silas said. “Any sensitivities or allergies?”

“None, honey, I’ll eat anything,” Scarlet said, waving a handful of red-lacquered nails.

Silas appreciated that, too. “The prep will take some time. You can stay if you want, but you don’t have to.”

“Why wouldn’t I stay?”

“Some people prefer to be surprised.”

“I’d like to watch the process,” Scarlet said, scooting her original hip up onto a stool by the breakfast bar. “I’m glad you’re a little early, actually, my granddaughter’s been pestering me for a visit. Do you have kids?”

Steel pots, steel bowls, glass measuring cups. “Not my thing.”

“Me, neither,” Scarlet said, tossing white hair over her shoulder. “But life has so many expectations. You’ll know all about that, I expect.”

Mascarpone, olive oil, a kiss of salt and sumac. Silas finely chopped fresh thyme and added it to the standing mixer, sliding residue from the blade. “Not everyone lets me in.”

“Have you done this before?”

Choosing his words carefully, Silas said, “A lot of people see me and change their minds.”

“I bet.” Scarlet’s impeccably carved creases lowered as she breathed in. “There is nothing in the world like garlic and onion.”

Silas grinned over the sizzling pan. “That reaction is why I made this my specialty. Because I am not naturally comforting, I had to work a little harder at it.”

One egg, two. Folded into flour, the sizzling garlic oil poured over the dough. “I understand about appearances,” Scarlet said. “It takes work, cultivating a first impression. And people stick to their assumptions, even when they’re wrong. They can misjudge you long before you ever meet. But everybody’s sexy in the dark.”

“In my experience, most people avoid dark places.” Silas sniffed. “At the end of it all, I think a wolf is supposed to swallow the sun.”

Scarlet smiled, winked. “How’s your appetite?”

Twisting the fulsome curve of a piping bag, Silas squeezed a cool and fragrant dollop on the end of Scarlet’s finger. She popped it in her mouth and her false lashes fluttered, shoulders melting as she sucked away the cream. “You’re going to make me irresistible.”

“You’ve already done that for me,” Silas said, folding his apron. “Based on first impressions. Maybe forty-five minutes while everything sets. Is that enough time?”

“Of course!” Scarlet slid from her barstool. “Right this way, honey.”

The curtains were drawn in the living room, and a tri-fold mirror had been set up on one side. Two racks of clothing, a craftsman case of accessories and a battalion of shoes were lined up across from the sofa. “Now, had I realized ‘wolf’ meant ‘wolf’,” Scarlet said. “I would have skipped all these feathers; they’re distracting on you. And speaking from past encounters, open toed shoes won’t be flattering.”

“Oh,” said Silas. “You have experience styling wolves?”

“Bears,” said Scarlet. “But I got it just right. With your coloring, I think we should start with red.”

When Silas was at his most daring, he’d pick up plum polyester, or a cotton rayon blend in forest green. With zippers full of fur and stretched seams across his barrel chest, any half-turn in front of the mirror just fueled humiliation. Flash fashion shredded into trash. He’d only strayed into this district of the internet with cynical expectations, and as much as he found Scarlet charming, his de-wormed heart was set for disappointment.

A backless evening gown in crimson satin, with a draped halter neck and flared mermaid silhouette. A black, red, and gold brocade bolero with bell sleeves and a matching clutch. Deep V black silk ankle boots with a two-inch heel and red contrast soles. And a black pillbox fascinator with black butterflies embroidered across the veil. “How do you feel?” Scarlet asked.

Quiet for a moment, Silas finally said softly, “I’m trying not to wag.”

Scarlet smiled, standing up on the sofa to fasten a double strand of black pearls around Silas’s neck. “Simply irresistible.”

“I mean,” Silas mumbled. “Big ears, big teeth; I’m never going to look like a princess.”

“I should hope not; you’re a fucking queen.” The timer buzzed in the kitchen, and Scarlet stopped Silas when he tried stepping out of the shoes. “You know, you can take it all with you.”

“Can I?”

“Sure, take anything.” Taking Silas’s arm, Scarlet climbed carefully down from the sofa. “Take it all. I won’t need it anymore.”

Silas turned away from the mirror. “And you are sure. You don’t want more time?”

Waving this away, Scarlet said, “Not at all. You’re not getting cold feet, are you?”

“No.”

“Even now you’ve experienced my sparkling personality?”

“Especially now,” Silas said. “You’re very kind. And so am I.”

Scarlet smiled, and pinched his furry cheek. “I knew I could let you in. Here, I’ll get you a pinafore.”

With the apron protecting his slinky ensemble, Silas rubbed butter over a large pan. “I’m going to slather you with an herbed aioli and encase you in tin foil, to lock in moisture and give you a crispy, aromatic skin.”

Scarlet nodded, swirling a cocktail in her hand. “Way ahead of you, darling.”

“Then, I’ll siphon the juices for a Cajun-style gravy,” the wolf went on. “Served steaming over garlic mousse and onion glace en croute.”

“Mm,” Scarlet said, as her eyelids drooped. “Will I be very fattening?”

“Luxury always is.” Silas scooped the empty snifter from Scarlet’s unresisting hand, catching her before the lady fell. “And none of that will be your problem anymore.”

Scarlet pushed her crooked-knuckled fingers through Silas’s soft fur. “Will you savor me?”

Silas promised, “I’ll gobble you up.”

As fragrant smoke carried enticing aromas over the tree tops, a red riding hood skipped closer.