What did Kit prefer?
And why did I wonder about that when I wasn’t sure if he fancied men at all?
I chopped a few carrots and onions more carelessly than was prudent and dumped them into a cast iron skillet where they hissed and sizzled in the hot oil. The chicken legs went in next, and I sprinkled the mix with salt and cracked pepper and some of the dried rosemary I found in the pantry. Then it was more waiting while the meat cooked through and the vegetables softened.
That was how Kit found me when he finally shuffled in. Since my position in the kitchen had a direct view of the front door, I caught sight of him as soon as he entered. Seeing his face smeared with soot and his dark curls sweat-damp brought my first smile in what felt like hours.
He paused to kick off his boots, then looked up at me and sniffed the air. “Gods, that smells good.” Venturing forward, he came up beside me and peeked at the steaming skillet.
“Just finishing up,” I said, sneaking a whiff of the forgesmoke clinging to his clothes. Normally, the stink of anything burnt turned my stomach, but this was different enough that I didn’t mind too much. “You’re right on time.”
Kit grunted. “Later than I meant to be. I couldn’t get a moment’s peace with that buffoon Anders touching everything, moving everything… It took me an hour to put it all right again.”
I smirked. “Rosie’s father doesn’t care for him, either.”
“That’s right.” He dipped his head in an exaggerated nod. “How was your baking lesson?”
Farther down the counter, the brown paper bag waited. I snagged it and opened it for Kit to peek inside.
“I brought cookies.”
Kit’s eyes widened, and he reached into the bag. Pulling out one of the crisp squares, he consumed most of it in one bite.
“Then,” he said with his mouth full, “when I was finished picking up, Levitt came by to see how we were settling in.”
I grabbed plates from the upper cabinet and started filling them with food from the skillet. Kit polished off the shortbread moments before I handed him his plate.
He swallowed hard and seemed to sober. “I told him you decided to undergo the Oaths after all.”
The statement made me pause. Less the statement than the finality of it.
I set the last slice of carrot on my dish. “Good.” I nodded. “That’s settled, then.”
Kit answered with a nod of his own. He stared down at the food with a guarded expression. “Thank you for this, Penny. I’m not used to coming home to a hot meal. Or much of anything, to be honest.”
I searched his downturned face, then the rest of him,thinking back to his home in Forstford. It had felt lived in; not as hollow as this house, but a far cry from the cozy comfort of Rosie’s cottage. Perhaps it was the lack of family. Most men Kit’s age were married and had a few children scurrying around.
Was it the shame of his ties to the cult that kept him so isolated? Or something else?
“Have you been on your own a long time?” I asked.
“Some years, since I moved to Forstford.”
“And before that?”
He huffed a breath. “Before that was so long ago it hardly matters. May as well be a whole other life.”
The silence between us grew awkward the longer neither us could come up with something to say. He clearly didn’t want to share the details of his past, but I wasn’t content to leave the conversation unfinished.
“Were you lonely?” I asked.
Through the haze of gray speckling his cheeks, Kit seemed to pale for a moment. Before I could speak again, he stepped behind me and grabbed a fork from the drawer. After loading the tines with vegetables, he stuffed a too-big bite into his mouth, then turned toward the dining table.
“This is good, thank you,” he mumbled.
He was avoiding the question, but I let it go as I took a fork for myself and followed him. “You already thanked me.” I dropped into the seat beside his.
“Did I?”
