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The daunting prospect of their conversation later this evening began to creep up on him, and as Thea learned about the area he leaned back into the soft blankets and listened, distracting his mind.
Finally the sleigh dropped down out of the countryside and into a large, busy town, and soon they stopped outside a non-descript-looking building with heavy, ornate, chunky wooden doors.
Elden Huset—The Firehouse—by name and by former nature.
‘We’re dining here?’ Thea glanced up, surprised.
She felt torn. She’d been itching to eat here ever since she’d seen it on a popular cooking show back home. With their ‘back to the Stone Age’ birchwood fire cooking, the chefs had been lavished with praise, and the whole experience had looked wonderfully sensational. But things with Ben were as awkward as ever, and she couldn’t imagine enjoying the experience with such a cloud hanging over them. The sleigh ride had been difficult enough.
He’d told her they were going to talk tonight, but instead of making her feel better it had only made her feel even more on edge. He might not realise it, but Ben wasn’t the only one with a confession. She still had to tell him about the baby. Their baby. And she didn’t relish the thought one little bit.
Allowing Ben to open the door, Thea stepped inside, and the sounds, sights and aromas which instantly assaulted her senses promised her that she was in for an incredible experience.
Despite her initial apprehension, for a while all her concerns receded into the background. With a growing sense of excitement, she moved further inside. The place was all leather, copper and stone, the chefs in flannel shirts, working in an open kitchen where the occasional burst of flame whooshed up towards the thick, oak-timber-beamed ceilings in a blaze of glory which ignited her sense of smell and her tastebuds with tantalising delight.
‘This place is incredible...’ She inhaled the smoky scent with deep, appreciative breaths, hearing the sound of crackling birchwood and clanging copper pots, which lent an exciting edge to the atmosphere.
Thea’s eyes were drawn to the smooth grace of the chefs, working in such harmony, and she watched as one chef took a generous piece of salmon, wrapped it in hay, and thrust it onto the bars above the fire. The flames took hold of the hay and the fire blazed over the salmon in seconds, leaving it apparently black and burned-looking. Then the chef turned it over to repeat the action, before taking the fillet out and sliding it onto another tray, which he slid into what looked like a wood furnace.
Remembering Ben, she turned—only to find he was also watching the proceedings with the same look of intensity on his face that she’d had. Somehow it helped her to relax a little, and she was able to enjoy watching the chef pulling the tray out of the oven. In one slick, efficient movement he peeled the blackened skin off the salmon to reveal a pink, perfectly cooked piece of fish. Her mouth practically watered even as he finished serving it up, and she swallowed once...twice.
‘I’m having that,’ she declared, as soon as she’d regained control of her mouth.
The spectacle of the restaurant had changed the atmosphere between them—if only temporarily. And by the time they’d ordered and their meal had arrived Thea was beginning to feel comfortable enough to just enjoy this part of the evening without being wrapped up in what happened next.
‘My mum used to love to cook,’ Ben said suddenly—unexpectedly.
She opened her mouth, then closed it again. When he had promised her they would talk tonight, this wasn’t what she had expected. Ben had never talked about his family—not to her, at least. She’d gleaned from Daniel, before she’d ever met Ben, that Ben’s mother had died when he was young—maybe the same age Thea had been when her own parents had been killed.
‘It must have been hard for you when she died.’ She knew exactly what he must have gone through. ‘Isn’t your father in the Army, like you?’
‘Yes, he’s in the Army—but he’s not medical, like me.’ Ben answered her question, then reflected for a moment before continuing. ‘And you’re right—it wasn’t easy. Although it must have been worse for you, losing both your parents. After Mum’s death my father cleared out all reminders of her from the house. Photos, jewellery—anything she had loved and valued. We never spoke about her again.’
‘Never?’ Thea replied, shocked. It was so different from the way Daniel had helped her when their own parents had died. He’d made a scrapbook of photos and memories, so that she’d felt she would never forget them. He’d talked to her as often as she had wanted, answered as many questions as she’d asked, and almost always found some way to make her laugh again.
Her brother’s endless support and love had nurtured her spirit, influencing her to become the person she was today. She couldn’t imagine how it would have affected her to have been forbidden from talking about her parents. If Ben had been almost conditioned not to think talk about his mother from a child, was it any wonder that he found it so difficult to open up to her...to anyone...now? He and Daniel had been close, but she was beginning to understand why Ben was so closed off.
‘What else do you remember about your mum?’ Thea asked tentatively.
‘Plenty.’ His voice was thick, loaded. ‘My father might have taken everything tangible of hers which I wanted to cherish—photos of her, the emerald necklace I always remembered her wearing, even the damned sofa cushions she loved to sew—but he couldn’t take my memories.’
Couldn’t take my memories...
The words punched through to her stomach. How many times had she thought the same thing about her baby? She might have lost the one thing she had cherished the most, but the love was still there, the memory of that feeling of knowing a life was growing inside her. That single scan.
‘She used to teach me how to bake cakes as a kid,’ Ben continued hesitantly, as though he was fighting to speak. ‘Then how to cook.’
‘Is that where you learned to make the pancakes you cooked me that time?’ Curiosity crept over her.
‘Yes—and thanks to her I can rustle up something a bit better if I want to. I can even make a mean Madagascan vanilla bean soufflé. I once dreamed of becoming a chef when I grew up.’
‘Really? What did your mum think?’
Ben hunched his shoulders. ‘She encouraged it. She never wanted me to become a soldier—she was frightened she’d lose me. I’ve always wondered, if I hadn’t gone into the Army, if I might have made it as a chef. I’d have loved to start something like this. It’s right up my street.’
‘I can see you as a chef...’ Thea murmured. ‘Why didn’t you do it? Too many memories?’
‘No. My father didn’t encourage it, and I always wanted to please him so I followed his lead.’
