Dating a goddess is nothing like how you think it would be. And Robert even figured that’s how it would be. He still got it wrong.
“Look at that crap,” she says, pointing at the lake. It’s a beautiful day; the colors of the sky and the grass couldn’t be more saturated if they were Photoshopped, and the heat’s just heavy enough to mellow you out all day. “What a waste of space.”
“The reflection.” She waves her uneaten ham sandwich. “Showing everyone exactly what’s already there. I’d have handled refraction better. You throw a little specular mimicry at the meatsacks and they sacrifice calves on your altars. Lazy.”
When they first met, he’d hoped, shyly, that she’d bless him with her powers, but asking for that is like asking the doctor at the party to diagnose your rash. Now, he takes a swig from his water bottle. Pinot noir fills his mouth, rich and red and fruity, a very good year. All the divinity know this trick; it’s kind of their trademark by now. He’s always preferred white wine.