“It does for me.” He winked. “There’s a reason I’m third in line.”
She narrowed her eyes. “So that’s how Elara chops everything so fast.”
“Caught red-handed,” he said with mock solemnity. “What a little fiend my sweet cousin is.”
She shook her head, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like “show-off,” but the corner of her mouth twitched, just barely.
That counted as a win.
“Hey,” she added, jabbing a thumb toward the remaining produce, “since you’re clearly the Fruit Whisperer, you can keep going.”
“Oh no,” he said, rising from the chair with exaggerated flair. “I’ve demonstrated my power. Now we do things the rustic way so you don’t feel like cheating.”
“What, you’re going to actually peel something?”
“I’ll supervise.”
She handed him a paring knife. “You, sir, are on pear duty.”
He took it, flipping it once between his fingers before settling in at the table beside her.
The truth was, he could have finished everything in five minutes flat. Ten, if he really took his time. But some part of him didn’t want this to go quickly or to be efficient. He wanted it to last. There were so few moments in his life not ruled by protocol or purpose. This was something else. Beth, in her dirt-smeared shorts and sunburnt shoulders, peeling fruit and ignoring his title like it meant nothing.
He could’ve shown off more. Instead, he peeled. Slowly. Deliberately. Because this was the closest he’d come to peace in months, and he wasn’t about to cut it short.
They spent the next few hours working steadily together.
The sun dipped lower, turning the garden into a wash of gold and amber. The air cooled just enough to raise goosebumps, not enough to send them inside. The scent of fruit, herbs, sugar, and earth lingered in the air. Laughter. Quiet conversation. A few stretches of easy silence. The evening unfolded gently, one small moment at a time.
And one small moment at the time, Beth had relaxed.
Not completely, she was still Beth, but the sharp edges had softened. The barbs tucked away for now. Obviously used to doing everything herself, she didn’t fight his presence. She let him be there.
And Gael... Gael had lost track of time, and for once, he didn’t care.
She was funny, direct, and honest in a way that cut through all the practiced conversations and veiled intentions he usually dealt with. There was no performance. No attempt to impress, seduce, or use him. No awe, no deference.
Beth treated him like a male in her garden, peeling fruit.
It was absurdly refreshing.
And his thoughts, treacherous things, kept drifting to the dirt beneath their feet and all the deeply indecent, deeply satisfying things they could do on it.
He tamped them down.
But stars, they simmered.
OKAY, SO HE WAS USEFUL, Beth thought.
Of course he was. It was hard not to be, coming fromthatfamily. But between pure power and who knew what else he had tucked in that magic inventory of his, it was hard thinking of him lounging in his chair, sipping hard cider, while apples peeled themselves, and cores and peels neatly cleaned themselves away. She kind of wished she’d seen that. And now rows and rows of brightly filled jars were ready to be boiled.
And okay, he’d ended up being pleasant.
What started as irritation–with a generous splash of loathing–had worn down over the hours. Because, somehow, he wasn’t the jerk she’d expected. In fact, he was unreasonably tolerant of her prickliness. He’d taken her snark in stride and matched it with irony and patience. They’d talked.About nothing much. The weather, her job, which, while not glamorous, gave her a sense of comfort and community. About his latest project that had launched him into an unexpectedly enthusiastic monologue with hand gestures and glints in the eyes. Despite herself, she’d gotten caught up in.
Who would’ve thought proud, taciturn Gael could be like that?
She hadn’t intended to let him in. Heavens, no. Her plan had been to tolerate him for Elara’s sake, keep it polite, then move on. Because Elara and Aryon mattered, and Beth wasn’t about to start throwing shade at their family. And maybe, she’d figured anyone they cared for couldn’t be entirely horrible. Even if said someone had, until now, carried himself like his spine was made of ice.
