Page 36 of Freed By the Witchbone Knife

“Oh, I…” My stomach chose that moment to growl. Because the last thing I’d eaten today was a cookie. And it was well past my usual dinner time. Not to mention my gremlins needed theirs.

“You don’t have to cook for me.”

“You intend to starve then?”

“I mean…”

“There’s no need to be difficult. Just accept the offer.”

“Okay. Yes. Please.” My thoughts jumped to Elle, the conversation we’d had not long before, about wanting a male to make me pancakes. A little laugh escaped.

“Something funny?”

“Nothing at all. I don’t have any allergies, but I do prefer to keep the dairy to a minimum, if possible. And I can pay you, or help pay for groceries, I mean.”

“Not a problem. Don’t worry about it. Just…see to that—” he waved his hand in the direction of the bunnies, “—and I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”

I thanked him again before seeing to Basil and Sage. I arranged their enclosure, putting their litter boxes in the usual place, setting out their toys, filling their hay and water, then setting out their daily allotment of pellets. Then I opened the carrier and let them out.

Even though none of their belongings had changed, the space had. So instead of hopping around with confidence, they went right into investigation mode, walking around on all four feet instead of hopping, as they cautiously sniffed out their new world.

I was overly aware of Axel as he retrieved coolers from the truck, which presumably carried the groceries he’d gotten before the incident at The Roost. Soon after, the cabin filled with the amazing aroma of food. The entire bottom floor was an open floor plan with the exception of the bedroom down a short hall in the back.

Leaving my bunnies to enjoy their pellets inside their enclosure, I gravitated toward the kitchen. It was modest, what you would expect for someone who lived alone, but the finishes and craftsmanship was incredible. A butcher block island with three barstools on one side and a workspace on the other. A gas stove with brass fume hood. Wooden counter tops with dark blue cabinetry and gold hardware. To some it might have felt overly masculine, but to me it mostly just felt homey with a touch of elegance.

“That smells incredible,” I blurted. “What are you making?”

“Trout.” He was occupied at the stove. The oven light was on and I could just make out a baking dish inside. Smoke rose from the vegetables searing in the frying pan.

“Need any help?”

“Already got it covered.”

I nodded and pulled up a barstool.

“You like to cook?” he asked.

“Love to, actually.” I grinned at him.

He grunted. “You any good?”

I lifted a shoulder. “I can make you the best beef stroganoff you’ve ever had.”

He grunted again. “That your signature dish?”

I laughed. “No. I just figured it’s one you’d gravitate to.”

He tossed me a glance before returning his attention to the stove. “How are the little snacks?”

“They are not for eating,” I warned, even though I knew he was teasing. “But they’re good. I’m going to leave them in their enclosure for the next twenty-four hours. It will let them get used to the new smells and calm down from the ride. I’ll need to drop by the market to pick up fresh greens. I didn’t think to grab mine from the fridge. They’ll manage for a morning. But if I skip anymore than that⁠—”

“What kind of greens?”

“Uh…like, various types of lettuce mostly—except iceberg. Cilantro. Other herbs and such that I throw in for variety.”

“I think I should be able to manage.”

“You don’t have⁠—”