Copyright J.B. Norman
“I’ve brought a charcuterie board,” Amara declares.
Dunstana stares blankly. “A what?”
“A charcuterie board,” Dunstana repeats. “Essentially, it’s a tray of appetisers.”
At the promise of food, Kat’s footsteps come thundering down the hall.
Dunstana gasps. “Is it made of sharks?”
She frowns.
“Hmm. I’m not sure if that’s awesome or makes me sad. I mean, eating the sharks is a major boot’s-on-the-other-glove-now moment. But I like sharks, and I don’t think I’d actually want to eat one.”
“No, Dunstana,” Amara says. “It’s not made of sharks.”
She starts pointing at the various things on the board.
“That’s ham. That’s… a different kind of ham. That’s, ah, something else that used to be a pig. Assorted cheeses. Those are some nuts. Pickles. Olives. Crackers.”
“Where’s food?” Kat asks, standing breathlessly in the doorway.
“And hello to you too, Katherine,” Amara says. “Lovely weather, isn’t it?”
Kat shrugs and dives for the charcuterie board.
“Oh,” Dunstana says, her eyes going wide in a moment of revelation. “I get it. It’s a shark-uterie, because you’re supposed to eat it like a shark!”
“Oh, Katherine,” Amara groans. “What are you doing? You’re supposed to spread the cheese on the crackers, not the ham!”
“Hey,” Kat answers through a mouthful of cheese-covered ham. “You can eat your bits the way you want.”
“Well, I would, but whenever I try to reach for something, you start growling at me like a starved wolf,” Amara notes.
Narrowing her eyes at her friend, Kat backs away from the board, allowing Amara to pick up an olive.
“Thank you, Katherine,” she mutters.
“Yeah, well,” Kat notes. “I don’t even like olives.”
“Your selflessness is utterly heartwarming, Katherine,” Amara says, rolling her eyes.
Kat wordlessly offers one of the bits of ham to Amara.
Amara sighs but accepts, deciding to take this small victory, at least.
“So, hey, Amara,” Dunstana asks. “I like free food and all, but what’s with the board?”
“I’ve been practicing. The book club’s next meeting is coming up and it’s my turn to host,” explains.
“Don’t you have an entire staff of butlers and maids and cooks so you don’t have to do this sort of thing for yourself?” Kat asks.
“Firstly, Katherine,” Amara says, “please don’t talk with your mouth full. And secondly, one does need a hobby. And I have found it strangely compelling and calming to just arrange the various bits of food in a way that pleases the eye.”
Kat shrugs.
“I just like eating it.”
“Yes, Katherine. I do believe I’ve noticed. Now, hold still.”
She reaches for a napkin and inches towards Kat.
“Amara,” Kat says. “Don’t you dare.”
“Hush, now, Katherine. You’ve got bits of cheese all over your face.”
“Don’t you — Mmph!”
Kat is cut off my Amara’s napkin latching onto her face like a squid onto its prey.
“But, seriously,” Dunstana says. “Why is it called shark-uterie if it’s not made of sharks?”
“I believe it’s a Gallicantien word, Dunstana,” Amara answers, looking up from where her napkin is busily attacking Kat’s face.
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