by Caroline Lee
And despite her lack of refinement and bustles, despite her insistence on spending so much time with her desserts, she’d managed to attract him all on her own. She knew that he enjoyed her baked treats, and now she knew—knew—that he enjoyed her company.
Briar smiled smugly as she placed the last cut-out on the last strawberry dollop, and crimped the edges. Oh yes, she’d managed to attract him all on her own, and she was feeling rather pleased of herself and her pastries. She’d take these to him tomorrow, and maybe she’d even manage to try some of the flirting Nana Rose had tried to teach her, if she could keep a straight face.
Just the thought of being with him—sharing her desserts with him—made her giddy. Tomorrow, she’d see him bite into her cookies, those incredible lips of his shaping around the perfect pastry, and hear his sigh of pleasure, like he did last week. She’d watch his tongue dart out to catch the last few crumbs, and she’d wonder what he would taste like. Strawberries? Sage? Possibly rosemary? Or did Gordon have a taste all of his own?
And she’d go to sleep dreaming of him…again. His tastes, his arms, his lips. His goals and his dreams, and what part she might play in them. She’d dream that they might have a future. Together.
CHAPTER FOUR
Thursdays were the best days of the week, Briar was sure of it. Each Thursday morning for the last several months, she’d woken knowing, knowing that she’d get to see him that evening. In the past, “seeing” Gordon was all that happened; they shared a cramped kitchen in the back of Spratt’s Eatery, and only said a few words to each other. Maybe he would ask her to pass him a particular utensil, or maybe she’d have to squeeze by him on the way to the ovens. But they’d be together, that was the point. Thursday evenings had made up for the week of listening to her mother’s lectures on “proper housewife” behavior, and Nana Rose’s attempts to turn Briar into a lady.
But something had changed after Zelle’s wedding, when Gordon had touched her. It was like an essential ingredient had been added and suddenly they were at ease with each other, like old friends. As if these months of being together had been spent chatting, laughing, and sharing secrets, rather than just looking.
But they’d certainly made up for it. They’d had a chance to do all those things during their lunch breaks from the wheat fields, and even here at Spratt’s. And this afternoon? Briar had four whole hours, tucked in close with him in the kitchen, while she made desserts for Mr. Spratt to sell over the coming days.
She’d rushed through her chores that day, and had eaten a hurried lunch in her own kitchen, whipping up a double batch of the chocolate drop cookies Nana Rose had requested. Even though she’d had no intention of being there for her grandmother’s tea, there was no reason not to make the cookies.
Sure enough, when the time had come to head into town for her weekly job at Spratt’s Eatery, and Nana Rose had realized that Briar would be skipping the “important guests” coming for tea, there’d been a row. But to Briar’s surprise, Pa had stepped in and said that the money Mr. Spratt paid Briar was worth it, and that she should go into town. Briar had intended to all along—she’d never give up her once-a-week chance to bake with Gordon!—but it was nice that Pa had stood up for her.
Nana Rose had fumed, but it wasn’t just irritation that she hadn’t gotten her way. The older woman was planning something…something that had to do with the guests who were probably even now eating Briar’s chocolate drop cookies. But as Briar stepped into the alley behind Spratt’s and made her way toward the small back door, she just couldn’t seem to make herself care. No matter what Nana Rose had planned, it just didn’t matter; Briar was about to see him.
As always, she brought her own ingredients, so her hands were full as she pushed through the back door directly into the small kitchen. And she hadn’t stepped even one foot inside before Gordon had looked up and smiled at her. And heavens, when he smiled at her, her knees somehow forgot to work. When he worked at her family’s farm, he wore his long blonde hair pulled back in a queue at the base of his neck, but here he tied it up out of his face on top of his head. It made him look…oddly beautiful. Could men be beautiful? His nose was still crooked from that long-ago break, and his teeth were still chipped. But the lines of his cheekbones were longer, and his jaw seemed stronger, and Briar realized that she very much wanted to touch that jaw, those cheeks, the lips that formed that little half-smile.
Whoops. While she was staring, weak-kneed, she lost her grip on the flour. The heavy sack hit the floor with a whomp, and the noise seemed to spur Gordon into motion. In a heartbeat he was there beside her, smelling of sage and rosemary and grinning crookedly as he scooped up the sack and took the little basket of eggs from her arm. She smiled at him in thanks, and his expression when curiously blank for a moment before he flushed—flushed?—and moved to arrange her ingredients on the counter.
Had her smile done that to him? Made him…awkward? Even though she’d smiled at him plenty of times since he’d arrived in Everland? Heavens, she’d smiled at him ‘til she thought her face would break, in an effort to show him her interest. But when he hadn’t once acknowledged her smiles, or shown any interest in her, Briar had given up. So what had changed, since Zelle’s wedding?
Thoughtful, Briar settled in to work. As she measured and sifted, she pondered the man who stood at the other counter. Every once in a while she felt his gaze on her, and a few times she looked up to catch his amber-brown eyes. The first time, she smiled in response, and he just looked back down at the carrots he was busy dicing. The second time, she was careful not to react at all, and slowly his lips pulled into that adorable half-grin of his. Then it was her turn to flush and look away. The third time, they both smiled together, and when she began to giggle, his chuckles joined in.
Yes, they were like old friends now, and it was…nice wasn’t a strong enough word. Here, working in the kitchen with him, quietly and efficiently going about their tasks, each confident in the other… This felt right. As if she’d been waiting for it for years, and hadn’t known what it was.
The batter for the chocolate cakes was almost ready, when he spoke for the first time. “Ye’re so good at that.”
Briar’s attention jerked away from the nice, even mixing strokes she was trying to maintain. “At what?”
“It’s not easy t’ know how much flour an’ sugar t’ put into a batter, ye know.”
She blinked. “It’s not? But…” She glanced back down at the large bowl cradled in her arm. “Why wouldn’t it be? Can’t you just tell when you need another handful of flour, or a little extra butter, based on how it feels?”
When Gordon laughed, he tilted his head back so that she could see the long, thick column of his throat, and Briar had decided last week that she was going to make him laugh as much as possible. Anything for more glimpses of that honey-smooth skin of his throat! She licked her lips, watching his chuckles subside, and tried to ignore the way his laugh made things go all gooey inside her. “I’m going to pretend that you’re not laughing at me.”
“I’m not.” He smiled fully, so that she could see his chipped teeth on the left side, and crossed his arms in front of his apron-covered chest, the chopping knife still held in one big hand. He’d rolled his sleeves to keep them clean, and Briar found herself utterly fascinated by the small light hairs on his forearms. “I’m laughing because it’s just so easy for ye. The rest of us? I love t’ cook, and I still can’t get my batters right all the time.”
“Really? It just seems so obvious to me.”
“I know. That’s what makes ye special.” When Briar’s eyes widened at the compliment, his smile grew. “Well, one of the things, I guess.”
“You think I’m special?”
“I know it.” Oh goodness, there went her knees again. “I wish yer family saw it, too.”
His casual reminder put a cold damper on her fluttering senses. Being here with him was special to her too, because it was so unusual. So different from what she got at
home.
“They see it, but they don’t…don’t understand it.” Ma and Pa had always worked too hard to notice that she wasn’t interested in the same life they were, and the boys just didn’t care. Nana Rose, on the other hand, had been the only one to take special interest in her…and even she didn’t understand. Briar’s grandmother cared for her—she really did—but showed it by teaching Briar the things that were important to her, not to Briar. And by trying to turn Briar into a younger, plumper version of the famous Briar Rose Swenssen.
Thus far, it hadn’t worked.
“They don’t appreciate ye, is what I’m thinking.”
Oh dear. There was a hollow in her stomach that hadn’t been there a few minutes ago. Had talking about her family really done that? Briar was desperate to change the topic, so she rolled her eyes with as much exaggeration as possible. “Of course they appreciate me. I have three younger brothers, Gordon. They’re thrilled to have someone who wakes up in the middle of the night with the urge to bake cookies.”
He didn’t laugh, but after a long moment—too many heartbeats of staring at her—his mouth pulled up into his wry half-smile. “An’ ye let them eat these midnight cookies?”
“Well, it’s usually more like three in the morning. And yes. Sometimes. If I don’t eat them all myself.” Briar flushed and, remembering the bowl of chocolate batter in her arms, tried to focus on stirring once more. How could she admit something like that? To him of all people?
But he didn’t respond, and when she sneaked another peek at him, he was still smiling. At her? “What?”
“I like that about ye, Briar Jorgenson. You know what ye like, and ye don’t apologize for it.”
Cookies! They were talking about cookies. …Weren’t they? Surely they weren’t talking about other things…like the way he held the kitchen utensils made her wonder what his hands would feel like holding her.
Briar swallowed, and deciding that her cake batter was as perfect as she could make it with her mind and her pulse skittering in two different directions, put it down to fumble for the cake pans. “I just like sweets, that’s it. Zelle used to tease me that’s why I started baking, because it was the only way I could get a steady supply of sweets.”
In a movement so fast she might’ve blinked and missed it, Gordon had placed the knife down on the block beside the carrots and moved up beside her. She had just enough time to suck in a Gordon-scented breath of air, surprised at his sudden move, when his voice dropped way down to the sensual level and he murmured, “I like sweets, too.”
Gah.
That’s all her brain could come up with at the moment, with him looming so very completely over her, smelling of everything good inside a kitchen, and staring down at her with an intensity in his amber-brown eyes she had only dreamed about. Sweets? Were they still talking about cookies?
Gah.
“Let me help ye. I might not have yer touch wi’ batter, but I can flour a pan wi’ the best of them.” In motions so ingrained she didn’t have to actually think about them, Briar helped him ready the pans, and pour the chocolate batter in. Her pulse was beating so loudly in her temples that she was sure he could hear it, and she could barely breathe thanks to his closeness.
It was glorious.
Ten wonderfully breathless minutes later, she had the first of the cakes in the oven and he’d moved back to chopping his vegetables for whatever dish Mrs. Spratt would be making tomorrow. But he talked while he chopped, which was a new development. Usually they worked in silence, with Briar painfully aware of his nearness. Today was much nicer.
“Ye really do have a talent. Bakin’ is an art form.”
Briar was tidying up the ingredients for the next batch. “I agree, of course. But I’m a terrible cook, to my mother’s disappointment. She thinks that I should be able to make all sorts of hearty stews and roasts and… and…” She knew so little about cookery that she couldn’t come up with another example. “And food for a dozen farmhands, that’s all I know. Nana Rose keeps telling her that I don’t need those skills, because I’m going to marry wealthy, but I don’t want—”
Briar bit down on her tongue, hoping he hadn’t heard the beginning of her confession. No such luck. His rich brogue seemed to wrap around her when he asked, “Don’t want what?”
She sighed. I don’t want to marry a wealthy man. “I don’t want to give up baking.” I want to marry a man who appreciates my talents, who will work beside me.
Like Gordon.
The egg in her hand cracked when she clenched her fist around it in surprise. Luckily, it was over the bowl, so she could ignore it while staring at the back of his top-knotted head. She wanted to marry Gordon MacKinnon. Was this a new thought, or an old thought that had just rearranged itself to sound more manageable? She wanted to marry Gordon, and help him make his dream of owning a restaurant come true.
Mrs. Gordon MacKinnon. MacKinnon’s Fine Dining, perhaps?
“Do ye know that ye talk to yerself out loud, sometimes?”
Her heart skipped a beat as his words sunk in. “Do I?” Her voice was an octave higher than usual, and the words seemed to spill out. “I don’t mean to.” Heavens, she was doing it again; muttering her private thoughts aloud. “I’m just…I’m just thinking. Did I say anything interesting?”
“No.” She heard the smile in his voice as he dumped a big handful of potatoes into a large bowl, and breathed a little sigh of relief. “Ye’re just muttering really.”
“It’s a bad habit. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I think it’s sweet.” Whoops, there he went, meeting her eyes with that teasing look. “An’ I like sweet things, ye remember.”
“I remember.” Oh heavens, she’d probably never forget. Briar tried to console herself with the assurance that she probably didn’t sound like she was choking when she said, “Just like me.”
She meant just like I like sweets, but his smile turned wicked then, and she forgot that he was holding another handful of potatoes and she still had a slimy eggshell in her hand. “Just like ye, aye.”
Thank heavens she was standing next to the counter. If she hadn’t gripped the corner, she probably would’ve tumbled right to the floor at the sensual way his gaze caressed her face.
Gah.
There went her brain again. Luckily, however, he seemed to be more in control. The knife flashed again as he reached for another potato, and she managed to find a dish towel for her hand. How could he make her feel so…so under-cooked with just a look like that? Her insides were hot and cold all at once, like she had a fever. The most wonderful kind of a fever.
“An’ I’m glad yer family does too.”
What had they been talking about? “Like me?”
A snort that could’ve been a chuckle. “Like sweets.”
Her cheeks were doing their raspberry-flush again, she just knew it. How embarrassing, to assume he’d meant something else… “Oh.”
“I’m sure they like ye, too, but I’m glad that yer brothers like your cookies, an’ that ye bake fer them. It shows them that ye love them, an’ ye don’t even have to say it.” There was something in his voice that wouldn’t let Briar dismiss his words as empty praise. Slowly, she dusted the flour off her hands, and turned to watch him. All she could see over the broad shoulder facing her was the edge of his jaw and his left cheek. Both were…hard. The easy joking of a moment before was gone.
His voice was gruff, almost, when he continued. “When I was very, very young, my Gran had a saying. It translated to something like ‘Ye show ye care when ye share what ye have’. I think it’s the same the world over.”
Because she apparently lacked any tact Nana Rose tried to drill into her, Briar blurted out, “You had a grandmother?” Of course he had a grandmother, you ninny. Everyone does. “I just mean, I just didn’t expect it, since you were…” Since you were a thief and a pick-pocket.
“She cared fer me an’ my brothers after our mam died.” His voice had gone almost as hard
as his jaw, but his hands never stopped their supremely confident strokes with the knife.
“Oh.” Briar swallowed, wanting to know more, but worried about offending him. “What about your father?”
A long pause followed, while he dumped the potatoes into the bowl and carefully wiped the knife with a rag. Just when she decided he wasn’t going to answer, she saw his shoulders expand with a big breath. “Gone long before she was.” He said the word gone like it didn’t mean died.
“And your grandmother’s saying?”
Gordon turned then, and propped his hip on the counter as he crossed his arms. “She meant that the best way t’ take care of someone—an’ t’ show that ye cared—was t’ share yer food wi’ them.”
“And did you?” Briar’s voice was the merest whisper.
“With all o’ the breath in my body.” He swallowed, but didn’t drop her gaze. “Gran died around the same time as Sam, my youngest brother. We shared everything we had, an’ some that we didn’t, but they weren’t strong enough t’ last through that winter.”
“I’m sorry.” It wasn’t enough, but it had to be said.
Gordon nodded once, and somehow made the motion look regal, even with that Asian bun flopping around atop his head. “I was too. Especially when the creditors took what little she had left, an’ landed me an’ Dougal on the streets o’ Edinburgh.”
How horrible. “Is that why…?” Why you became a thief?
He seemed to understand. “Aye. The pair o’ us lasted another two years. He was younger by a bit, an’ not as brawny, but had a defter hand than I did. We got along well enough.”
The way he spoke told her that this story didn’t have a happy ending. “What happened?”