“I am so dense sometimes!” he cried, smacking his forehead.
Honey jumped, startled, then grinned. “Well, yes. I established that quite early on. What about it?”
“I thought, given Alvea’s profession, that I would have to impress her with something spectacular. But I think—I think something comforting, something connected with good memories, would bringthat smile to her face instead.” It was so simple. How could he have missedit?
“Like something from her childhood, perhaps?” Honey offered.
“Perhaps, but it doesn’t have to be.” He racked his brain for the conversation they’d had over wine a few nights ago. She had mentioned the simple yet delicious way of cooking meat properly—honoring the fat, not stripping it away or letting it go to waste. But more crucially, he recalled her mentioning the community cooking.
And from his own upbringing, where people shared and cooked food together more out of necessity than community, there was one staple that could be found at almost any time of the day, with almost any meal.
“Honey!” he cried as he got to work searching the pantry for what he needed. Oats, flour, and—
“Yes?” She came up behind him.
He turned on his heel and swooped her into a hug. “Thank you.”
Honey stiffened in his grip, her face pressed against his chest. “I— Whatever for?” she asked, muffled, into his chest.
“For everything. Just—everything.”
“Oh.” They stood together for a moment longer, and Ainsworth felt her hands reach up his back to embrace him. The tips of her horns were smooth against the bottom of his chin. He had the sudden urge to plant a quick kiss atop one of them but knew that would be highly inappropriate.
“Well, you know,” Honey said, pushing herself away. Her eyes were bright, and to Ainsworth it seemed that a trick of the low light from the dying hearth made them gently glow. She fixed him with a knowing look. “It doesn’t matter how nice you are to me now. You still have to pay in full for another moon’s turn when the time comes!”
Chapter 15
“Alvea says she knowsshe set this challenge, but if you keep her from her kitchen for one more minute—”
“Yes, yes,” said Ainsworth, picking up a small container of his auldfruit preserves to see if it had set. Close enough, he supposed. “This will be the final entry. I am confident!”
“All right,” Quiddle said, shuffling his feet before he scuttled away. Ainsworth knew he was enjoying the—paid—time off, although what the hauflin lad did with that time was beyond him.
No matter; that was not his concern. Instead, the simple, heavy scent of baked oats lay heavy in the air and reminded Ainsworth that, yes, this was right. And if this was wrong, if the simple, crumbling bannocks did not bring a smile to Alvea’s face, then he would truly give up, for he had run out of options.
He placed a mound of the flat, circular breads on a plate and popped a small dish of butter and his preserves alongside them. Quickness was of the essence here—the melting, crumbling bannock should be enjoyed warm, the butter slipping into each and every gap in the bread, the preserves warming to the touch alongside it…His mouth watered and he cleared his throat. Truly, there was little better than a bannock.
With a flourish, he entered the main room of the tavern. Bren and Spin were off doing their duties, but Honey, Ruraidh, andQuiddle all sat with eager, curious faces.
“About time!” Alvea huffed.
“Ignore her. She’s just hungry,” Honey teased, and the chef scowled in return.
“All the better, then. An even harder challenge to get a smile on that face. But I think I’ve done it this time,” Ainsworth said as he placed the dish on the table.
Quiddle wrinkled his nose. “Bannocks? But they’re so…boring.”
“Quiddle!” Ruraidh reprimanded him, but Ainsworth laughed.
“Yes, they are boring. Extremely boring. Which makes them all the better.”
Alvea looked at the dish, then to Ainsworth.
Was that a hint of a smile already?
“You’ve surprised me, Gladsly,” she said as she reached for a bannock. She took a nibble, and a hiss of steam escaped from within the bread. “Mmm. It’s been a while since I’ve had one of these. I haven’t made them here much, because…” She swallowed. “Well. I don’t know, actually.”
“She isn’t smiling!” Quiddle pointed out, face falling.
