Page 51 of Wisteria and Cloves
"I'll find something," I promised, standing to head back inside. The prospect of choosing my own clothes for a specific activity—not to impress or maintain appearances, but simply for comfort and practicality—felt exciting.
As I made my way upstairs, I heard the three of them continue chatting, their voices a pleasant backdrop to my thoughts as a smile graced my lips.
Chapter Eighteen
Lilianna
Ihad quickly changed into a simple sundress, a dark green. It was simple and it was one of the dresses I didn’t mind. I brushed my hair out and left it down, not wanting to put in the time to do my hair. I padded back downstairs in bare feet, feeling oddly liberated by the simple act of choosing comfort over formality. The sundress felt light against my skin, and leaving my hair loose gave me an unexpected sense of freedom. In my parents' house, I never would have appeared in the common areas with unstyled hair—it would have been seen as a sign of poor breeding and carelessness.
The kitchen smelled divine when I entered, rich with the aroma of fresh herbs and something warm and yeasty that made my mouth water. Christopher had transformed the space into what looked like a professional baking station—ingredients linedup with military precision, measuring cups nested by size, and two mixing bowls waiting on the counter.
"Perfect timing," Christopher said, looking up from where he was arranging herb sprigs on a cutting board. "Miles just brought in the rosemary and thyme.”
I approached slowly, Miles was sitting at the table off to the side, with his computer out.
He glanced up from his computer, offering me a warm smile. "I'll be your audience today. Someone needs to document Christopher's teaching methods for posterity."
Christopher rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "He means he wants to be first in line when the scones come out of the oven."
"Guilty as charged," Miles admitted with a grin before returning to his work.
I moved closer to the counter, taking in the array of ingredients Christopher had assembled. Flour, butter, salt, baking powder—everything arranged with meticulous care. "Where should I start?"
"First things first," Christopher said, reaching behind him to produce an apron. It was a simple canvas, cream-colored with thin blue stripes. "Protection from the inevitable flour explosion."
He held it out, and I hesitated only briefly before accepting it. The fabric felt sturdy in my hands, obviously well-used but clean. I put on the apron and couldn’t help but smile.
"There," Christopher said with satisfaction, reaching around me to tie the apron strings properly. His proximity made me acutely aware of his warm scent—vanilla and something earthy that might have been cardamom. "Now you look like a proper baker."
I glanced down at myself, surprised by how the simple apron transformed my appearance. Instead of looking like someoneplaying dress-up, I actually looked... capable. Ready to work with my hands.
Christopher then went on to explain the recipe and what we were going to do. I listened the best I could but didn’t understand a lot of what he said. Even as we started making things, I just followed his ques the whole time.
"Like this?" I asked, attempting to cut the butter into the flour mixture with the pastry cutter Christopher had shown me. The metal blades felt awkward in my hands, and the butter wasn't cooperating—instead of creating the fine crumbs Christopher had demonstrated, I was producing uneven chunks.
"Perfect start," Christopher encouraged, though I could see the mixture looked nothing like his example. "Here, let me show you the motion again." He moved behind me, his hands covering mine on the pastry cutter. "It's more of a rocking motion than chopping. Feel the rhythm?"
His hands guided mine through the proper technique, and gradually the butter began breaking down into smaller pieces. The repetitive motion was oddly soothing, almost meditative.
"That's it," Christopher said softly, his breath warm against my ear. "Baking is about feeling as much as following instructions."
He stepped back, allowing me to continue on my own. I found myself missing his guidance but appreciating the chance to develop my own rhythm with the pastry cutter. Slowly, the mixture began to resemble the "coarse meal" Christopher had described.
"I think... I think it's working," I said, unable to keep the surprise from my voice.
"Of course it is," Christopher replied, his smile warm and encouraging. "Your hands are learning what to do. Muscle memory is an incredible thing."
Miles glanced up from his computer, watching us with quiet amusement. "The student becomes the master," he teased.
"Hardly," I laughed, looking down at the bowl. "But at least it's starting to look right." I listened as he went through the next step, doing so until everything in the bowl was mixed.
“Now take what is in the bowl and start making them into single scones.” Christopher told me as he flipped his bowl over and let the mixture fall onto the counter, smiling as he saw the smeared flower on the apron, which I tried to hide.
I did as he said, moving to do the same, but instead of flipping over, the bowl hit the floor, the bowl shattering. My mind went blank, flashing back to my mother yelling at me for breaking a perfume bottle. I didn’t know what was going on around me as I was trying to breathe.
I didn’t feel the hands on my face until my eyes locked onto hazel, “Breathe Lilianna.” Julian spoke his voice soft, his hands cradling my face as he kneeled down in front of me so we could be eye to eye.
"Breathe with me. In... and out." Julian's voice was steady, anchoring me as the kitchen blurred around the edges. "That's it. Focus on my voice."
