“Lucas said… he thinks that you all fuss over me. Yet it’s funny to you that we… that he and I….” Robin took a deep breath. “The rest of the family was matchmaking. But you’re making fun of me?”
A hint of skirts swayed in the doorway but only if Robin didn’t turn his head to look directly.
The touch along his cheekbone was barely there, cool rather than warm.
He shuddered and nodded. “Okay, then,” he mumbled, reaching out although he never felt anything when he tried. “But it doesn’t necessarily mean anything, you know. So don’t get your hopes up.”
At least there was no trilling laugh.
“I mean it.” Robin cleared his throat. “Don’t get too excited. He won’t even be back until tomorrow, and he’ll probably… I mean, he might want more.” He thought Lucas wanted more. It had felt like he did. “But he’s probably not going to stay here much longer. He has responsibilities elsewhere, and a home, and it’s better that we remember that.”
Robin ate a few more cookies at the thought and decided absently that they would go well with coffee. They would also be good with tea. He made neither, finishing off the shortbread before returning his attention to the puff pastry. The house was silent once again, but not as heavily this time.
Peronelle stayed near the hall, other shapes coming and going, one flickering near the side door until Robin went to open it and Flax waddled back into the house.
“This is quite the family gathering,” Robin said pertly, still warm from the hugs he couldn’t feel. He put the dough in the fridge to chill, washed his hands, and then got out the leftovers for lunch.
Despite the solstice meaning nights would start to get shorter, it would still grow dark early. Robin ate at the kitchen island, looking at his phone, thinking that an outsider who had never once considered witches to be real would just message someone like Lucas if they were someone like Robin.
Happy Solstice. I hope you’re having fun.Somehow, it was not something anyone should type to Lucas Greysmith.
Which was ridiculous. One couldn’t rely on omens and portents to convey messages, even to frowny wild men mystics, and Lucas’ family certainly had no problem contacting him using such technology.
Robin hesitated anyway, then sent nothing. He stuffed himself with potatoes and dinner rolls, ate figs and cheese and honey like a greedy mouse, then finally did the dishes.
Robin had spent months alone but now couldn’t think of what to do with himself.
He folded a load of laundry, then didn’t take it upstairs or wash any of the rest of it.
He went to the dining room to dig out some candles and paused to consider the liquor cabinet. Drinks were a part of many holiday traditions, and in particular this one. Though honestly, Robin’s one concession to Christmas’ hegemony, and the one distinctly wintery drink that he enjoyed, was eggnog. But he didn’t have the ingredients for it.
They made non-dairy eggnog now. He’d seen it at the store. He’d have to try it in the future that he wasn’t thinking about. Today was about the past. Or, really, it was about both. Yule was a day that stood between old and new, between meetings and partings. A door, in other words.
The rum Mallory had left behind was on top of the cabinet, probably placed there by Lucas to get it out of the way. Inside the cabinet were the various spirits the others had preferred; sherry and crème de menthe, apple brandy and aged bourbon, amaretti and some cordials. In the pantry, there would be bottles of wine, red and white, from the local wineries but also wherever René or then Marise had picked some up. Robin knew nothing about wine, but it was likely all high quality unless it had gone bad.
He took his candles and some matches and went to the living room to set up for his Yule evening of appetizers, wine, and perhaps some knitting. The mantel was ideal for candles, and it occurred to him that if he moved the couch, he could put candles on the stone around the fireplace as well.
The couch was in front of the fireplace because the heat had helped some of the others with their arthritis pains. It would survive being shoved against the far wall for the night. Or he could turn it around to face the flames. Robin barely watched TV as it was, and he might not tonight.
But instead of doing that, he ended up dropping the candles onto a couch cushion while he stared at the holder for firewood next to the fireplace, which was full of what smelled like freshly cut logs. Inside the fireplace itself, fat and merry on top of the grate, was a large chunk of what had to be oak. Large enough to last through the new year, if Robin put its fire out every night.
Robin took a deep breath, then turned sharply to go out into the hall and to the front door, once again not stopping for a coat.
He shuddered on the porch, adjusting to the cold, but held his sweater closed in one hand as he went to the steps. Lucas’ truck was there, making Robin’s heart jump, but it was unoccupied; someone must have picked Lucas up. Further down the driveway, the oak tree was not even smoldering. The rain and snow had put the fire out, as Lucas had promised. The piece that had been split from the rest of the tree by the lighting strike was no longer near the side of the driveway or anywhere else in sight.
Lucas, probably not long after sunrise, must have dragged it back to the yard. Which meant Robin had missed the sight of Lucas chopping wood, but also that he had missed Lucas bringing that Yule log into the house and charming it to be dry when it shouldn’t have been, and leaving it there for Robin to find.
Robin went back to the living room. He arranged the candles on the mantel to his and Peronelle’s satisfaction, pushed the baskets of yarn to one corner, and folded and refolded theblankets on the couch. Then, still hearing the rush of blood in his ears from his racing heart, he pushed the couch this way and that until he had it angled toward the fireplace, and then facing the fireplace. Yet the whole arrangement remainedwrong.
He finally shoved the couch and then the armchair and ottoman closer to each other, each of them facing the television with a little table between them, and marched to the kitchen to add to his long-term goals list: a comfortable chair and nice rug to put in front of living room fireplace.
It still wasn’tright, but it wasbetter.
Then he went back to the storeroom for ideas for whatever perfect, wonderful thing he would create for Lucas, only to fall asleep in the same chair as he had the day before.
Robin woke to less light. He hurried out of the storeroom, tripping on a drawer left partially open and hopping down the hall, worried he’d slept too long. But was the middle of the afternoon. He had some of the day left, at least.
He put a tiny bandage on his baby toe, then, walking funny, went to the kitchen to attend to his artichoke puffs. He debated more coffee but decided on tea in his favorite cup. He grumbled over the lack of lemon, in the middle of citrus season no less, but added honey.
