A Werewolf's Unexpected Mate-Chapter 124: Simple Pleasures
[Ace’s POV]
As we walked through the festival, side-by-side yet separated by a careful, unspoken distance, Ovelia remained quiet, her wide eyes taking in the spectacle but her lips forming no requests. It was a stark contrast to other noblewomen I had observed, who would point and demand with the certainty of their station. I found myself offering—a delicate silver bracelet here, a pair of earrings there, both from expensive boutiques and simple artisan carts. Her response was always the same: a soft, appreciative smile and a gentle shake of her head. "Just seeing them is beautiful enough," she would say, her voice sincere. The concept of owning such things seemed foreign, almost uncomfortable to her.
With food, however, it was different. She wouldn’t ask, not directly. Instead, her steps would slow, her gaze would become fixed, and she would ask a question in that studious, curious tone of hers. ’Ace, what’s that fruit called?’ ’What are they frying in that oil?’ It had become a quiet game between us. I had to learn to read the subtle signs—the slight tilt of her head, the way she inhaled a little deeper—and be the one to ask, ’Do you want to try it?’ Only then would she allow herself to nod, a flash of guilty excitement in her red eyes.
I kept a portion of my awareness stretched thin, scanning the crowd for any sign of Gale, Ray, or Ann. There was none. Ray and Ann were undoubtedly still on the hunt, tracking the masked threat through this maze of revelry. And the witch in dark clothes... she was surely still following Gale. His unique mana signature, even restrained, would be a beacon to anyone with the right senses. A thread of worry pulled taut in my chest, but I forced it down. He could handle himself. He had to.
Suddenly, Ovelia’s hand closed around the sleeve of my tunic, her grip light but insistent. Here we go again, I thought, a faint, genuine smile touching my lips despite myself.
"Ace," she said, her voice hushed with wonder. She wasn’t looking at me; her entire attention was captured by a stall where steam billowed from a row of upright bamboo tubes. "What is that? They’re cooking it inside the bamboo."
I followed her gaze. "That’s called puto bumbong," I explained, falling easily into the role of her guide. "It’s a steamed sticky rice cake, flavored with purple yam. They make it as a special treat for this festival, though it’s traditionally a food for the Christmas season."
"Puto bumbong..." she whispered the name to herself, committing it to memory. She was still finishing the last bite of her takoyaki, but her eyes never left the mesmerizing process of the steaming tubes.
"Do you want to try some?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
She finally turned to look at me, and the pure, unguarded excitement on her face was like a physical warmth. "Yes, please," she said, the words tumbling out. Then, in a move that sent a jolt through me, she grabbed my hand and began pulling me gently toward the stall. Her hand was small and warm in mine, her touch both trusting and electrifying.
She really does love food, I thought, the worry momentarily forgotten as I let her lead me through the crowd.
[Ovelia’s POV]
Once we were in front of the puto bumbong stall, the air itself tasted sweet, fragrant with the scent of steaming glutinous rice and purple yam. I tossed my empty takoyaki box into a nearby trash bin.
The line was long, and everyone leaving the stall had happy, contented expressions. It must be truly delicious.
Ace’s hand settled on my waist, startling me with its firm, protective warmth. "Stay close to me," he murmured, his voice a low vibration I felt more than heard as he guided me gently through the press of people.
I let myself lean back slightly, my shoulders brushing against the solid wall of his chest. A profound sense of safety, so different from the constant anxiety of my past, washed over me. I tilted my head back, hoping to catch his expression, and found his silver eyes already looking down at me, a soft, unreadable emotion in their depths.
I instantly snapped my gaze forward, my cheeks burning. The merchant, a kind-faced woman with flour dusting her apron, caught my eye and gave me a knowing, gentle smile that only deepened my blush.
"You’re next, dears," she called out warmly. Ace’s hand left my waist, and we stepped up to the counter together.
"One order of puto bumbong," Ace said, placing a coin on the worn wooden surface with a soft clink.
"Aren’t you going to have any?" I asked, looking up at him.
"I’ll just have a bite of yours later," he said. "I’m still full from everything else."
Right. We had been sampling food non-stop. A pang of guilt twisted in my stomach. Was I being greedy?
The merchant took the coin. "Would you like shredded coconut and cheese for toppings?" she asked.
"Yes, please," I said, my mouth already watering at the description.
The woman prepared a small cardboard box. She pulled four slender bamboo tubes from the steamer, and with a practiced twist of a wooden stick, she pushed out the contents. Long, cylindrical sticky rice cakes of the most beautiful, vibrant purple I had ever seen slid out, steaming and glistening.
She arranged the four pieces in the box, brushed them with a golden sheen of melted butter, then showered them with a generous heap of white shredded coconut and salty, grated cheese. Finally, she tucked a small wooden spoon into the corner.
"Here you are, my dears," she said, sliding the box toward me with a smile that reached her eyes. "Enjoy!"
"Thank you," I said, taking the warm box carefully.
"Please come back if you get a craving for more!" she called after us as Ace guided me away from the stall with a light touch on my elbow.
The puto bumbong looked and smelled incredible. I took my first bite. The combined flavors exploded in my mouth—the warm, gentle sweetness and soft, sticky texture of the rice cake, the rich saltiness of the butter and cheese, and the satisfying, subtle crunch of the coconut. "It’s a perfect combination," I breathed, my eyes closing for a second in pure delight.
"Do you like it?" Ace asked. I opened my eyes to see him taking a small, neat bite from the piece I had broken.
I swallowed. "Yes," I said, my voice full of feeling. "I love it."
"I’m glad you like it," he said, and the small, genuine smile that touched his lips made my heart perform a strange, fluttering somersault in my chest.
I used the spoon to cut off another piece. "Here, have a proper bite," I said, holding it up to him. He looked at me, his gaze lingering on my face for a moment before he obediently opened his mouth. I fed him the bite, watching his expression intently as he chewed.
"It’s very good," he confirmed after he swallowed, and then he did that thing that always unraveled me—he reached out and gently patted my head, his fingers smoothing my hair. The simple affection made my breath catch.
"I’m happy you like it, too," I said, my voice suddenly a little thick. I took another bite myself, the sweetness now layered with the warmth of his approval.
As I savored it, my thoughts drifted to the others. I wish Ann, Ray, and Gale could taste this. I wondered what they were doing right now, scattered in the festival’s chaos. The joy of the moment was tinged with a thread of concern. I hope they are safe, and I hope, in their own ways, they are also finding something to enjoy.
