“I think I have everything,” he says, looking through the baskets.
“Seems so. How much do I owe you?”
“You don’t. Rustion will reimburse me since he is forcing me to go. He told me.”
“I hate that you feel forced.”
“Don’t you? I thought you were only going to aid your chances with Rustion’s job.”
“I am, but I don’t know. It’s not been horrible.”
Nodding, he lets the matter drop and begins laying out measuring cups and spoons. It’s wild to see a fantastically large gargoyle with mysterious stone magic and wings just prepping for a nice cooking session. And wearing a frilly apron. He looks completely at home but also so very, very out of place. He should be on a battlefield, destroying the king’s enemies with his dangerous powers, not measuring out flour. I shake my head and join him, and soon, we are elbow-deep in sticky toffee pudding creation.
Using a length of twine, I secure the linen around the top of the pot where the cake is steaming inside another larger pot that is one-fourth filled with water. The woodstove’s heat ismore consistent than my hearth, which is a good thing.
“I’m glad we’re here. Your cooking setup is far superior to mine.”
“Is it?”
“Yep. I only have a hearth to cook on. No stove. You didn’t even realize how spoiled you were up here in your fancy tower. But why is there no art on the walls? Why not a colorful rug somewhere or something? I know you just moved here, but you’ve had time to get something.”
“I don’t know if I’ll be able to stay, so I don’t want to spend coin on items I don’t immediately need.”
“Why wouldn’t you be able to stay?” It isn’t the steam from the pot making my palms sweat. The thought of Rom leaving is untenable. I didn’t realize it would be, but my whole self says it is. I study his sharp profile as he takes a mixing bowl from a shelf.
“You know why,” he says.
“You’re still worried about your stone magic,” I reply quietly, and he nods. “Well, I hope you stay,” I add.
He stops in the process of pouring sugar into another pot on the stove’s second eye and meets my gaze. “Youtruly do?”
“Truly.”
Looking away, he sighs and nods. I take the wooden spoon from him to stir the sugar. Our hands brush and a tingling sensation whisks up my arm. He stands so close that we are nearly touching all along my left side. I want to lean into his warmth and to feel those wings of his wrap me into a cocoon where I know nothing will ever harm me.
Did he just glance my way? I was checking the sauce.
He leans a fraction of an inch closer. I work to keep my breathing normal.
We finish the sauce in a tension-filled silence, then move on to rolling out the dough to make the shepherd’s pie crust. In turns, we smooth the dough. I try not to stare at his arm muscles as he takes his go with the pin. Are all gargoyles built like this? Was he simply born with a musculature like that, or does he do chin-ups and stone lifting in his spare time?
I take up the dough carefully and set it into the pie pan while Rom slices the meat. I chop the carrots and an onion quickly, blinking away tears.
“Want me to take over?” he asks. “Onions don’t bother me.” He is holding out a hand for the chopping knife.
I try to wipe my eyes with the sleeve of my dress,but my sleeves are rolled up, and it’s not working out. “No, it’s fine. I’ve got it done now.”
Rom lifts a square of linen to my eyes and gently dabs them dry. “That better?”
His touch is as light as a feather, and I flutter my eyelashes accidentally like some besotted schoolgirl. But I just can’t help it. He’s just so amazing.
“Laini, I…”
A chiming sound interrupts him, and he shakes his head as if to clear it.
“That’s my weather map,” he says, taking off for the door.
I toss the vegetables and meat into the pie crust, add the lattice strips Rom cut for the top, then pop it into the side of the hearth to bake. Hurrying outside, I trail Rom.
