“And this?” Lucas asked after getting Robin to sit down, and pulled a dusty tin from the back of one of the cabinets over the counter. “More tea?”
“Ah, no.” Robin stared at the tin, remembering when it had been with the other cookbooks over the desk. “No, that’s my… that’s Frances’ recipes. All of them scrawled on scraps of paper and some notecards. I put it there so I could make some things from it, but I suppose I haven’t had the time or energy.”
Lucas set it on the counter to wipe the dust from the top.
“You don’t need to do that,” Robin snapped, then pulled in a breath. “I’m sorry. It shouldn’t have dust on it, and it does, and that’s my fault. Sorry. You’re doing me a favor and I’m being rude.”
“I don’t think you’re rude.” Lucas stepped away from the tin and returned to pulling groceries from the bags on the island. “A lot of the people who have lived with us have lost family members, one way or another, but none of us have experienced anything close to losing everyone.”
Robin could not maintain eye contact after that. He blinked at the floor. “Everyone.”
“Even those who should have been here.” Lucas’s voice was unforgiving for that sentence, then warm and quiet again. “It’s no wonder you’re tired. Didn’t my mother tell you that?” Malloryhadsaid something to that effect, at some point, after pouring Robin more tea. Robin just hadn’t had time to think about it. “I don’t think grief is meant to be borne alone. I understand why you didn’t call us, but I wish you had.” Lucas considered the bags of flour, sugar, and oats in front of him, then Robin again, even though Robin was either pale with tears held back or flushedwith emotion, his hair messy, his jeans covered in dog fur. “Do you want me to try to make one of these recipes?”
Robin welcomed the distracting question but narrowed his eyes. “I knew you knew more than the basics.” Lucas had probably learned baking at his mother’s knee. He’d worked at a dairy and with a cheesemonger in town, and had spent summers at the vineyards and orchards owned or worked by coven members. One of the Greysmiths who wasn’t part of the construction side of the business was a butcher, and Robin had no doubt Lucas had learned from her too. Lucas liked to learn.
“I wouldn’t tonight, though. Not for you at the moment.” Lucas gave him a careful smile that revealed nothing yet had Robin suspecting Lucas might not cook like a five-star chef now, but hecould, easily. “But I will make some more bread today, while the kitchen is still warm from earlier.”
“You’ve already been cleaning,” Robin protested. “I can eat food from cans, Lucas. I do it all the time.”
Lucas ignored that. “I’ll need to straighten in here a bit more, get a sense of the room.” He was treating the kitchen like a workspace. Maybe it would be with Lucas in it, and that was why he didn’t needone; he could make any space his. “I will look through the recipes and consult with you, if you don’t mind. But later, after you’ve rested.” Lucas paused to give Robin another study. “You’ll want something warm, possibly to reheat, the night before Yule. It will snow,” he added in explanation, tone implying something. “It always snows, even if just a little, the night before.” His voice went even softer. “Beautiful, fragile snowflakes. I think it’s meant as a gift between them, Sibley and Battle.”
Their gazes caught and held until Robin finally looked away.
“I can make you some tea,” Robin offered, “or coffee, if I have it.”
“Tomorrow,” Lucas answered gently, “if you still want to.”
Robin made a face at the floor but manfully held in what he could have said. “I feel like I should—I want to do something for you. But I can’t really, can I? Not today, anyway.”
“Tomato soup for dinner?” Lucas asked, once again politely ignoring Robin’s foolishness. “Do you think you could have that? With some bread, of course.”
Of course, Robin echoed internally. But he could ignore things too. “The spare bedroom,” which was really just the bedroom unoccupied for the longest time, “is the last one on the right, upstairs. You, ah, had it before. If you remember. It’s not aired out or anything. I can do that later. Let me just rest for a spell.”
“I can manage, Blessing. Thank you.”
“There’s plenty of blankets. But I haven’t….” Robin frowned in annoyance at himself. “I haven’t checked any of the closets or even the storeroom for damp or moths or…. I should have done that and then, well, I can’t charm them, can I? I’ll have to ask someone to do it for me if I want it to be any good.”
“I can do that, too,” Lucas offered, natural as breathing. “And redo any magic work you need done, if you’d like.”
Robin really wanted to be angry but couldn’t manage it. Lucas was almost asking, and the hint of deference was dizzying.
“It won’t make your house marked,” Lucas went on, possibly misinterpreting Robin’s silence. “I don’t call down trouble, no matter what they might say.”
Tosh, as one of Robin’s ancestors might have thought.Piffle. “The closets and the storeroom, if you don’t mind, Lucas.” Robingave a firm nod. “I’ll owe you more than a tapestry by the time we’re through.”
Lucas looked at him, startled and frozen for several seconds before he seemed to remember the baking sundries he still had not put away. Robin directed him toward the canisters that Robin had also left on the counter once he’d emptied them, probably meaning to do something with them, like refill them, then forgetting.
Flour dusted Lucas’ hands and wrists, the front of his shirt. A long-sleeved shirt, probably of flannel, in dark gray, which at least wasn’t black, although the plaid flannel over it was black with thin lines of white.
Robin let out a sigh.
Lucas glanced over his shoulder. “Problems with your work?”
Right. Work.
Robin stared at his phone. “I was answering emails, or trying to. They built up while I was,” fainting and sweating and being sick on the couch, “sleeping, and now that I have answered a few, there’s more. It’s endless. I don’t suppose you deal with those.” Handling customer emails seemed more like Gwynn’s line.
“Apparently, I don’t convey the right tone.” Lucas’ tone now was beyond dry. Robin smiled to himself. “But surely it’s good to have the business?” Lucas continued, moving the subject back to Robin. Despite the flour on him personally, not a single speck went onto the counter or the rim of the canister.
