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She longed to roam her father’s land. And while she missed Finnian more than words could convey, she needed to do this for herself before summoning him. She was doing what he suggested, after all. To explore a little. Not only that, but she needed to prove to herself she could survive on her own.
Kaleo inclined his head to study her, his gaze low-lidded and full of depth. Its piercing effect made her cheeks feel as if she stood too close to an open flame. She bit her lip back with a need to squirm her hands.
“If money is something you lack,” he said, “you can work your tab off in the kitchen.”
Another pang in her pride.
Naia reached over and snatched the key from him. “When do I begin?”
“In two hours,” he replied, dutifully amused. “Preparations for breakfast begin a quarter to five.”
Naia clutched the key tightly, reeling a little when she felt the metal neck bending in her palm.
The kitchen loathed her just as much as she did it. But what options did she have? Unless she wanted to sleep in the forest, or along the shore.
Too close to Mira.
Pinpricks of anxiety dotted in her chest.
Naia had centuries left until turning eight-hundred. Surely, Mira would not make such a drastic fuss about Naia’s absence. Naia expected her to send Raksa or one of her other attendants if they could find her.
She relaxed herself with a breath and plastered on a fake smile to match Kaleo’s. “I’ll see you then.”
Working in the kitchens wasn’t as terrible as Naia expected.
And neither was Kaleo.
Her mornings were filled with the aroma of cinnamon and cloves, attempting in terrible fashion to bake breakfast pastries. When irritation became her, unable to get the measurements of the dough accurate, Kaleo intervened.
“I will show you, if you will let me.” His voice possessed a gentle patience she could not resist.
She would stand to the side and observe him work the dough in his hands, or in the evenings, chop the vegetables and roast the chicken.
When the inn was busy, she would lend a hand with operating the front desk and attending customer check-ins.
A week turned into a month and somewhere between the days, she noticed small things about Kaleo. The linen trousers he wore and how he never tucked his tunic into the waistband. The disheveled arrangement of his hair, and how moody he was towards others. Aside from a dry, sarcastic remark here and there, his lack of greeting stemmed from his introverted personality and intolerance of people.
He kept a small garden behind the inn, full of white-budded jasmine blossoms, the sharp tang of oregano and basil, and the peppery-pungent of coriander that he plucked daily to dehydrate for marinating and teas.
Kaleo owned the inn and ran it without help. From cooking to the upturning of rooms, he operated every role on his own.
Naia didn’t have to wonder if he appreciated her help, because he showed it by leaving a cup of her favorite chrysanthemum tea on the front desk to cool when she slipped away to the restroom (pretending to relieve herself), or by the berry pastry she’d find on her nightstand after serving the guests dinner.
A boat traveled to and from the mainland several times a season, carting tourists in and out. During Naia’s lone walks around the island, she’d often stand on the loading dock and watch as the sea carried the large ship far into the horizon until it was the size of a speck lost in the deep blue waters.
She could board the ship whenever she wished. If she knew what was best, she’d avoid settling in one place for too long. But four months had passed, and Naia was beginning to believe Mira did not care about her absence, since not a single deity had come for her.
The night of the autumn solstice, there wasn’t a soul in the inn. A weird lull, Kaleo simply put it.
“Go change your clothes and meet me down here in five minutes,” he told her. “I’m taking you out somewhere nice.”
Without giving her a chance to argue, he vanished through the door on the adjacent wall behind the front counter. She assumed it led to the basement where his personal living quarters were, since she’d seen him coming in and out of it frequently.
Naia dashed up to her room and changed into a blue dress with puffy short sleeves. She styled her long hair in a fat braid, decorated by Wren.
When she met Kaleo downstairs, he wore a fresh pair of trousers with a button up and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Her eyes lingered on the bare tan skin of his forearms to the slouchy, yet fitting, way he had tucked his tunic into his trousers on one side of his waistband beneath his belt.
He slipped on a fedora hat and took her by the hand.
