Page 82 of Winds of Ruin
Elsedora balked at me with amusement and watched me gather up vegetables and a large iron pot. She rested her forearms on the butcher block, leaning there—a view I could get used to while cooking.
After I lit the fireplace, I carried on, “My mother has this saying ‘No one deserves a good woman if they can’t cook as a good woman can.’ Which feelsquiteantiquated. But her grandmother used to say it to her mother, and so on... Then she passed it to me.”
Talking about Mama, while she lay in bed, too sick to move, felt unfair. But when I looked up, the way Elsedora’s gaze fixatedon me, watching my hands work on cutting carrots and other root vegetables, brightened my mood.
There was no room for me at the cottage since Papa was sleeping in my old nook while Mama rested. Being here with El, my head felt clearer.
“She holds the right to her traditions. And I suppose that concludes it—I’m not a good woman, after all,” she teased.
Though her tone was breezy, I ground my teeth.
I set the blade down and turned to her. She shifted, leaning against the cabinet beside me. I wiped my hands on my breeches before I stepped in front of her. Her back arched above the butcher block, and her chin tipped up to meet my gaze.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” I replied with more intensity than I’d meant to. She’d been my source of levity in the darkest of places. Throughout her own pain, she remained there for everyone around her, relentless in her cause. She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever met—inside and out. “I don’t give a horse’s ass if you can cook, Elsedora. You are as good as they come.”
She opened her mouth, looking ready to sling back some sarcastic remark.
Before thinking it through, I let my fingers dig into her hips and lifted her up onto the butcher block; she let out the most delicious gasp. I smirked, trying not to revel in catching her off guard.
Her lips hung open, and her knees spread—an invitation, one that I wouldnotbe accepting despite the heat coursing through my body.
I hadn’t completely lost my sense of propriety. Instead, I stepped back beside her and continued chopping carrots like nothing had transpired.
“Now that you have a better view, I’m going to make us chicken soup and then bring the rest to the cottage. If you really want to learn, then pay attention.”
“Well, alright,” she squeaked out.
I glanced over at her before setting the pot on the hearth. She had crossed one leg over the other. Her hands gripped the butcher block, and her cheeks were bright red as she watched me intently.
I’d never seen her look timid or embarrassed before, and I almost felt ashamed to be so smug about it. I couldn’t help it.
Where she was concerned, I didn’t know which way was up. But all was well so long as she was there.
Pretending she was mine to care for gave me a purpose, whether she wanted more or not.
It did not take long for Elsedora to recover her confidence and the will to turn the blush-inducing commentary back on me.
As we strolled into the formal dining room, she quipped over her shoulder, “And this table is solid oak. Just in case you need a place to pick me up like a doll and set me down again.”
I would let her hide behind salacious teasing for as long as she wanted to.
Groaning, I rolled my eyes. “I didnotpick you up like a doll.”
“Puppy, I don’t understand how half the women in Luz weren’t knocking at your bedchamber door, begging to be thrown around like a doll.”
“Enough trying to turn me into putty, already,” I lobbed back at her with a pitiful excuse for a mock glare.
I’d loved every second of it. I was doomed.
El laughed and took a seat across from me.
I needed to avoid bedchamber talk with this woman. She made my cheeks heat and my fingers dance against the bowl I’d set onthe table. Fidgeting had always been a nervous tell of mine. It had bothered Sybilla, as she’d found it tiring.
I glanced around the room—dark wood wainscotting met lighter molding. The floor-to-ceiling windows on one side of the room had burgundy curtains peeled back to reveal a setting sun over the orchard.
“Beautiful, isn’t it? It’s like the everplums protect this place. I didn’t understand an attachment to trees until I set foot on these grounds again for the first time,” she said as she took a spoonful of soup. “Sources, this is good. You’re welcome in the kitchen anytime.”
As she chewed with a satiated moan, pride swelled in my chest. Feeding her, sitting with her at this table—it felt unreal in the best of ways. A dream I’d happily repeat.
