Arisanna glances at Cerian. He looks uncertainly back at her as if he’s afraid she’ll be offended.
“I might need you to show me what to do,” she whispers in Nunian, offering him a soft smile.
Relief fills his face, along with one of those breathtaking smiles he rarely shows, and he nods before returning his attention to the potato in his hand.
Did It Have to Be Potatoes?
Episode 34
CerianglancesatArisannaagain where she concentrates on cutting the potato as he showed her.
She’s clearly never used a knife before, and every time she cuts the peeled white root vegetable, Cerian holds his breath, afraid she’s going to slice off one of her fingers.
Why did it have to be potatoes? Couldn’t Cook have been making biscuits or bread? That would have been safer.
“You’re making me nervous,” Arisanna says under her breath.
“I’m concerned about you keeping all your appendages intact.”
“And staring at me will help with that?”
He tenses as she pushes the knife through a chunk with a thud. “Perhaps I should cut the—”
“No. Cook told me to cut them.”
Cerian eyes the pile of peeled potatoes waiting for her. At the rate she’s going, they’ll be ready by lunchtime tomorrow.
“Perhaps we can conquer the potatoes together,” he says.
Less opportunity for her to maim herself that way.
“Fine, but I’m not shirking. I don’t want Cook to think your human princess is lazy.”
Cerian’s mouth ticks up at the corner. His human princess. The idea used to irk him, but the more he gets to know this particular human princess, the less it rankles.
Especially when she says it.
He makes quick work of the potatoes still waiting to be peeled and then helps Arisanna dice everything, sliding the white cubes into her pile along with the few she’s managed to cut without hurting herself.
“I see what you’re doing,” she whispers as a smile teases her face.
“I’m just cutting potatoes with you.”
“Thank you.”
Their eyes meet for a moment, and he nods before pushing the last of the potato cubes into her pile.
Soon, Cook wanders over to check their progress. “Well done, young ones. Now make yourselves scarce so I can get these roasted. And tomorrow, I’ll send breakfast to you.” Cook winks, and heat creeps up Cerian’s neck.
Without speaking, they wash up, and Cerian offers Arisanna his hand again.
“I think you like holding my hand,” she whispers in Nunian.
“Perhaps I wish to ensure all your fingers remain intact.”
“Uh-huh.”
Try as he might, he can’t help the smile that sneaks over his face at her response. He’s smiled more in the past few days with her than he’s smiled in the past year.
