Kit returned with the sack tucked under his arm and steered me toward the kitchen, this time pushing the door closed behind us.
Ember skittered into view, leaping to scramble up Kit’s pant leg until he lifted her to his shoulder with his free hand. She settled in tucked against his neck. Nutmeg was close behind, paws pattering on the floor as she followed us toward the back of the house where Kit set the bag on the dining table.
He smiled wide as he fished inside and pulled out a large carved wooden bowl, a set of long handled spoons, and a rolling pin. Rosie and I hung at his sides, and she gave a soft whistle of appreciation.
“Oh, those are lovely,” she said.
Heat bloomed in my cheeks as Kit arranged the items, then folded the empty burlap sack and pushed it aside. He turned toward me, so clearly pleased with himself that I broke into a grin.
“I’m starting to think you make a game of spoiling me,” I said.
“Call it a habit,” he replied.
I grabbed him and pulled him in for a kiss, then turned quickly to the utensils and mixing bowl, all freshly oiled and gleaming, ready for use.
Kit slipped his arm around me for a parting hug before setting Ember on the floor and starting toward the door. “Have fun, you two. I’ll be back soon.”
After marveling over the wooden items—the bowl especially had a fascinating grain—I sighed. Happiness fluttered in my chest. Since our talk a few nights earlier, the mood had been gloomy. I didn’t mind being at Kit’s side more constantly than usual, but the reason for our extra caution made me weary. If Kit intended to lift my spirits, this had definitely done the trick.
Rosie held the rolling pin with both hands as she gazed toward the exit. “He certainlyissmitten, isn’t he?”
When I only smiled and didn’t respond, she turned the rolling pin toward me, poking one end into my stomach. “Maybe I should take lessons fromyouon how to thoroughly enchant a man.”
Laughing, I loaded the utensils into the bowl and carried them to the counter where Rosie’s ingredients were spread out. Judging by the large pile of flour, bottle of dark syrup, and set of loaf pans, we would be making bread.
I acted on my assumption and went to the sink to pump water into a cup. “How much?” I asked.
“That’s good,” she said after I’d filled the bottom. “I forgot salt. Do you have some?”
Grabbing my apron off the wall hook, I put it on, then indicated the salt cellar tucked in the corner. Rosie measured two kinds of flour into my new bowl, then added a pinch of the salt and a sprinkle of seed that looked to be caraway.
I pushed the rolling pin back and forth on the counter, smiling to myself over Kit sneaking around to barter, and deciding he must have arranged the trade the day before when we were at the tavern for lunch when Rosie spoke up.
“I will say, I would know better what to do with new spoons and bowls than this.” She pulled the dagger out of her pocket and laid it on the counter. “Not that I’m ungrateful. It’s probably wise…”
We both stared at the weapon. It was finely crafted, but Kit’s workmanship was never in question. I had a feeling she felt like I did, unsure she could use the thing should the need arise. Or, worse than that, she could have remembered the last time she used a knife to carve into Tessa’s dead flesh. The thought sent a shiver down my back.
“I’m sorry about your brother,” Rosie said.
I didn’t bother adding the “half” qualifier. It felt unimportant in the moment. Petty.
Rosie moved away from the knife to stir the dry ingredients in the bowl, then beckoned me to add the water and, of course, mix.
“I told Kit I’ve thought about leaving,” she said. “There are people in this place… Not just the Shroud Warden… It’s not what I thought it was. Not what it should be.”
When I’d anticipated resuming baking with Rosie, it wasn’t for this. I liked talking to her, but I would rather have discussed my courtship or what a wedding would look like on the farm. If Kit and I married in the fall, the sunflowers would be in bloom. We could stand before a wall of bright yellow and green, exchanging vows while Mother and Sayla stood by. My hope for that future felt more fragile than ever, but Rosie kept talking, so I nodded and worked the spoon through the increasingly stiff dough.
“He said you might come with us if we did,” she added. “I think you should.”
“We can’t.”
She frowned. “Why not?”
The bread had come together in a ball ready for kneading, so I set the spoon aside and dumped the dough onto the counter Rosie had already dusted with flour.
“If we all go, it will only leave the bad people behind,” I explained while pushing my palms into the dough. “The oneswho are making Ashpoint what it shouldn’t be. And they’ll make it worse. Here and everywhere else.”
Rosie considered my words, then nodded. “That’s probably true.”
