Page 20 of Wateredge

“You cooked the… what is it, cod?”

Lark turned away from the door and moved back into the kitchen, hands automatically cleaning up the station she had worked at, emptying the pans and looking around to store the leftover sauce.

“Hold on, are you nervous about how the cod came out? Is that why you’re observing the dining room as if it will at any second be besieged by aliens?”

“I’m not nervous,” Lark blurted out. Biggest fib ever. In fact, she had almost forgotten that Mayor Allende was right that very moment sampling her fish. Her nerves were replaced by an entire kaleidoscope of butterflies taking up residence in her stomach. All because Seren had put her hands on her. And Lark did not feel afraid, or threatened, or cornered. Lark felt nothing but hot and tingly under the touch of that calloused hand.

Seren made her very nervous. Exceedingly nervous. For some reason. For some annoying reason.

Deryn was funny. Rhiannon was flirty. Ceridwen was the most beautiful woman Lark had ever seen. And Seren set her on edge. She could just never relax around her. It was strange. And annoying. And annoyingly strange. But not unpleasantly so. In fact, it was entirely too pleasant.

She wished Seren would just leave her alone. She wished Seren would never stop looking at her with that raised eyebrow.

“How about I try the cod and give you my honest opinion? You seem to need help, and I’m here. Everyone on this island knows I am very helpful. Captain of the Fire Brigade, and all that.”

Lark bit her lip. She did not want to smile at this woman. She did not want to encourage… Her thoughts trailed off as Seren’s stomach growled.

“Oh, for heck’s sake, why not just ask for food instead of all this obfuscation?”

“And miss those twenty different expressions of apprehension on your face?” Seren smirked and went to the sink to wash her hands. When she came back she hopped on the tall stool by Lark, her flannel shirt was unbuttoned, revealing a white tank top underneath. Lark gulped suddenly, all too aware of how close Seren was.

If your parents knew you’re looking down the tank top of a woman… The punishment for even thinking about a woman…

Lark nearly dropped the knife she had picked up from her station. Her mother was not here; her father would never be here. She gulped, then straightened. Lark was on the other side of the world. Lark had grown up. Lark no longer owed them obedience. Lark was twenty-seven years old, and if she wanted to sit near a woman who made her nervous, she darn well would. And feed her too.

All apprehension gone, stubbornness and a touch of bravery taking over, she plated the fish, trying to extend the leftover sauce as much as possible. There wasn’t enough for a full portion—she had already plated four—but the way Seren dug into it made her think that even if there had not been any sauce, she’d not have minded.

A bite, two, then Seren let out a decidedly inappropriate hum. Then she hummed some more. It was… sensual. The sound got under Lark’s skin, made it break out in goosebumps, and then brought the earlier blush back in full force. Lark felt the kitchen grow hot. Hotter than it normally was. Seren licked her lips and took another forkful. Lark almost dropped the sauce spoon. Seren put the fork down and gave Lark a long look from under her thick lashes.

When had Lark started to notice Seren’s lashes? Why did Seren have to have lashes that were the stuff of dreams?

Seren pursed her lips. Lark waited with bated breath.

“Well, I guarantee you that Madam Mayor absolutely enjoyed her lunch.”

Lark couldn’t help but smile at the blissed-out expression on Seren’s face.

“I see. This tasting business… It has been quite a hardship for you.”

“A true sacrifice. But still.” Seren polished off the last of the cod and got up. “Someone had to take one for the team and let you off the hook of your anxiety.”

Without warning and before Lark could do anything, Seren leaned in and sniffed at her. Lark all but fell over backward, tripping over the stool. Seren lifted that insolent right eyebrow, the one that had a tiny ring pierced through it, and Lark had to take a deep breath to steady herself.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Lark tried to put on her most stern expression, despite her heart beating like little hummingbird wings in her chest. Seren was too close.

“You made an amazing meal, and you don’t even smell like a fish fry. Some kind of magic, Lark Thibodeaux. I just wanted to make sure.”

Then, just as Lark was regaining her breath from hearing Seren say her name in that low voice of hers, rolling the sounds as if doing something absolutely inappropriate to them with her mouth, Seren lifted Lark’s hand, the one still holding the sauce spoon, and laid her lips to her knuckles.

With a wink and a grab for a bread roll, Seren was gone, leaving Lark standing dumbfounded in the middle of the kitchen. Her hand tingled, heat spreading upward toward her wrist and forearm. Seren’s lips had been so soft and hot, Lark gulped, rubbing her fingertips to the little spot they had touched.

Did Seren say “some kind of magic?” And why are you indulging it?

Lark shook her head and shoved her hand in her pocket, focusing on the tasks in front of her. Cleaning, prepping, scrubbing. Not daydreaming about a woman who was nothing but trouble.

Lark paused, rehashing the thought that had blitzed her mind a second ago. No, Seren wasn’t trouble. At least not in the sense people meant. But Seren was trouble for Lark. Lark, who had never been allowed to daydream at all.

Should you even be starting now?