Unless, she went back to Haverow anyway…
Maybe if I run, the grocer will still be open when I get there, Pansy thought to herself as she covered the bowl with a nearby lid. It was a silly thought, the kind that Ren would probably think of as halfling stupidity. But standing there, with her failure sitting on the counter before her, Pansy couldn’t bring herself to discount it.
She strode out of the kitchen, her basket hanging off her arm yet again. The heat that had once stained her cheeks now sat beneath her breastbone, newly condensed into a far more determined flame.
Pansy nearly made it into the entry hall before Ren, now armed with a broom and exceedingly full dustbin, rounded the corner, with kitten still in tow, and said, “You can’t possibly be thinking of going out this late.”
“I forgot to pick up sugar,” Pansy explained, tucking a stray curl bashfully behind one ear. “Since I already threw all the other dry ingredients together and melted the butter, it’d be a shame to let them go to waste.”
“So, you’re going to risk getting lost in the woods. Wow. What a well-thought-out plan you’ve got there,” Ren said, their voice positively dripping with sarcasm.
Pansy flushed again, despite herself, and said, “I know it’s not the best idea—”
“It’s aterribleone.”
“But I need that sugar. So, unless you know of some goblinalternative that you have on hand…”
Ren set down the broom and dustbin with a sigh. “I told you about sugarfern already, didn’t I?”
Pansy thought for a moment. “That’s what you said the vinegar was made from, right?”
They nodded. “You can also use it as a sweetener. Come on. I’ll show you.”
Ren led the way into the kitchen, with Pansy following close behind.
“Here,” they said, handing over a single brownish-green frond. “Sugarfern.”
Pansy turned over the frond in her hands, marveling at the way it scraped lightly against her skin. “It’s like sandpaper!” she remarked.
“That’s the sap. The leaves secrete it, and it eventually hardens into a sort of crystal; hence the rough texture, which becomes more pronounced once the leaves are dried like this.”
Pansy frowned. “So, do I just throw it in like this or…?”
Ren let out a huff that might’ve been a laugh, given the way their eyes twinkled. “Grind it up first. You want it to be a fine powder before you use it. That’s why we dry out the leaves.”
“Got it. Say, do goblins bake? Like cookies and cakes? That sort of thing?”
“Does it matter?” Ren asked, cocking an eyebrow at her.
“Just curious,” Pansy said, shrugging. “Also, I generally try to avoid preparing dishes that I know won’t go over well. Waste of food and effort, that.”
Something in Ren thawed at her words, their shoulders dropping as the stiff wall of their posture dipped into something far more malleable. “I already told you that you don’t need to cook for me. But goblin desserts tend to be teas, or ices in thewinter, usually sweetened with berries, sugarfern or some sort of nectar. And rose hip. That’s my favorite,” they added after a beat, their voice softening to the point where it seemed like they were divulging a closely held secret rather than a harmless fact.
Pansy was being trusted with something. And, somehow, that was enough to send her heart skipping a beat. Several beats, in fact. “You know, that does sound good. Maybe I’ll try making it sometime.” She cast a grin over her shoulder, only for Ren to immediately avert their gaze.
“Do whatever you want,” they mumbled, cheeks darkening for the second time that evening.
“I guess it makes sense that goblin cuisine wouldn’t really use milk and eggs,” Pansy said as she continued to grind away at the sugarfern using a mortar and pestle. “They’re not staples for you all in the same way they are for us. Wait—” Pansy’s eyes widened. “Youdoeat milk and eggs, right?”
“I do. Some of us do – goblins, I mean. Where animals have been cared for well. No meat, though; never that.”
Suddenly, all the stories of goblins stealing hens and cattle, often touted as proof that thievery constituted an inherent part of goblin culture, took on a decidedly different sheen. Because if the animals had been poorly cared for, was it truly theft or, rather, a rescue? From a goblin perspective, the answer was plain. Pansy remembered the way Ren had spoken about valuing life: how it should be nurtured, cared for, respected. Again, she thought of her grandmother’s cottage, sitting out here in the woods, consigned to become a moldering tomb for old memories, until the goblins had saved that, too.
Pansy let out a breath of relief, shoulders slumping as she leaned over the counter. “Thank goodness you can eat them. These cookies would be a waste otherwise.”
Ren cocked their head to the side, confused. “Why?” they asked, wincing briefly as the kitten, disturbed by the motion, hopped down onto their shoulder, where he settled anew. “You could still just eat them yourself.”
Pansy froze. They were absolutely right, so why had she gotten so stuck on the idea that the cookies needed to be shared with Ren too? She wanted to blame it on the sugarfern, the only reason the cookies were even on their way to baking instead of relegated to the bottom of a wastebasket. But the explanation, reasonable though it was, didn’t quite land. Because Pansy knew, deep down, that this went beyond simple matters of politeness, the elaborate song-and-dance attached to every favor, given or received.
