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Oh God. What else had I said in my sleep?
I arrived at the kitchen, vaguely aware of Luc humming and bobbing around the kitchen.
“Good morning, my queen!” Luc said, nearly dancing across the kitchen as he cooked breakfast. “How did you sleep last night? It was a beautiful storm, was it not?”
I finally let out an unladylike groan. “Let’s not talk about last night, please.”
“You don’t feel energized and alive?” he asked. “I always feel great after a good storm.”
I had to admit, I felt a bit lighter than I had yesterday afternoon. I slept really well. Mainly because of Adri—
No. No, that wasn’t the reason.
Luc pranced toward me, his bright and vibrant robes swirling around him. He smiled, his teeth like pearls. He took my hands in his, bringing them to his chest.
“I was thinking about you last night,” he said.
I blinked at his sudden confession. “What?”
“I want us to be friends, my dove,” he said. “I heard you give the captain an earful yesterday on my behalf. I was quite touched. I think you and I would make a good team. What do you say?”
I sighed, giving a weak smile. “I wouldn’t mind having a friend in this place, honestly.”
His warmth radiated as he smiled even brighter.
“I thought as much!” he sang. “You and I are kindred spirits, dove. I’m sure of it.”
He bounced back to his counter, munching on a stale piece of celery, his hands dancing around the vegetables and knives. It was hard to believe Luc had ever suffered, the way he always glided and danced through his daily tasks. How had he healed? What were his secrets?
“Be a dove and get the eggs from the chickens, could you?” he sang. “I think this calls for a special soup of mine.”
I laughed as he danced around the kitchen while he spoke. If working included colleagues like Luc, then maybe I could get a decent job to help Father.
If they ever let me off this ship, that is.
I spent the entire day with Luc, helping him prepare breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the crew. He taught me some tricks of cooking for the men, even teaching me to chop the ingredients.
“You’re holding the knife wrong,” he said.
“I’m holding the handle,” I threw back. “How else do you hold it?”
“Like you’re in love with it, dove. Like this.”
His fingers wrapped around mine, slipping them around the knife in a new manner. He smiled over my shoulder, his airy scent tickling my nose.
“There,” he whispered. “Isn’t this much better?”
I shrugged apathetically, looking at the new way my fingers were torqued around the handle.
“It’s not as comfortable as before,” I returned.
He lingered there for a moment, pursing his lips. I looked back at him, waiting for him to say something. He flipped over my wrist, putting two fingers against it.
“Your heart isn’t racing,” he commented.
I raised an eyebrow. “Should it be?”
“Of course! I’m an incredibly desirable man with my hand on yours. You should be weak in the knees. I’m insulted at this lack of response.”
