“I just like working with my hands,” he explained. Cassia rolled her eyes.
“Cookingisworking with your hands.”
“Yeah, but, like, outside.”
“We’re outside right now.”
Aevrin snorted and shook his head.
“Fine, you got me there. Look, I don’t mean to talk down on homemaking. For me, it’s just always been the stuff I gotta do at the end of a long day, when I’m beat from working the ranch and I wish I could set my feet up. Or when there’s more to do on the ranch but I gotta go inside early anyways because the house needs tending. And it’sneverdone. Iknowit’s real important work, but I don’t take any pleasure in it like I do working our land.”
Cassia reached back into the basket blindly, pulled out a crumpled pair of black underpants, dropped them quickly, and grabbed another pair of trousers instead. She was certain he had it backwards. The idea of working a ranch and riding dragons in all weather seemed daunting, and a little uncomfortable. And shelikedthe satisfaction of a good meal. She didn’t think she’d like being airborne. In fact, she was positive she wouldn’t.
“...Cassia? I didn’t offend you, did I?” Aevrin asked quietly, as she fixed the second pin in place on the trousers. She gave him a startled look, surprised he’d even noticed she was lost in thought.
“No! Of course not. But do youallhate housework?”
“I mean… yeah.” Aevrin frowned, and hung up the underpants. “I thought everyone did. Isn't that why it's called chores?”
“Do you hate it because it’s, well, ‘women’s work?’” she wanted to know, bracing herself for all the foolishness men sometimes spewed.
Aevrin snorted.
“What? Nah, of course not. That'd be damnably stupid. I mean, when Ash is at home she’s riding the ranch with the rest of us. Gramma Prisca was, too, back in the day—you saw her old duck up front. Pretty sure women don’t like housework either.”
“Maybe some don’t. I do.”
He gave her a puzzled look.
“Why?”
Cassia had to think for a moment. He was right most of it wasn’t glamorous, though cooking could be. But it wasn’t glamour she loved. It was the feeling she’d achieved perfection. Set a mess to rights. Made a meal that filled someone with warmth or transported them to a memory.
“I guess it means you’ve got a home. And that’s something worth taking care of. Taking pride in.”
Aevrin nodded slowly, then reached into the basket for another piece of clothing.
“I guess I've always taken home for granted. You’ve got a nice point of view.”
He still sounded skeptical.
One of the windows on the house flew open with athunk.
“Aevrin, I know you don’t have that girl working,” Gramma Prisca said, resting her hands on the window ledge. Her glasses perched on the end of her nose as she leaned out.
“I made him let me, ma’am,” Cassia insisted quickly, before Aevrin could take any blame.
“Well, still, maybe you should…” Aevrin started to say, looking abashed with a damp pink stocking dangling in one hand.
“Nonsense,” Cassia told them both, as she swiftly clipped a wool skirt up on the line. “I feel good enough to do this, and if I didn’t, I wouldn’t have offered.”
“Hmph,” Gramma said, and slammed the window back shut.
“I’m not getting you in trouble, am I?” Cassia asked Aevrin, as she added a second clip to the shirt.
“Naw,” Aevrin told her. He clicked one of the clips in her direction and winked. “Besides, I can handle a little trouble, Miss Cassia.” She felt a flutter in her chest. With a smile, she reached for another tunic from the basket.
Aevrin
