The warmth hits first. Then the smell. Then the sight.
She’s at the stove, back to us, stirring something in a big pot. There’s a looseness to the way she moves that only comes from knowing what you’re doing. Hair pulled up in a messy knot, loose strands curling at the nape of her neck, the fabric of her shirt pulling across curves she doesn’t seem to be thinking about. The oven hums, a tray of golden inside, and the counter’s scattered with chopped herbs and lemon halves.
Silas is leaning against the counter nearby, of course, talking with his hands, probably flirting wildly. Sadie’s perched on a stool with a tiny apron tied over her clothes, swinging her legs and watching her intently.
Delaney laughs at something Silas says, but it’s quick and tight, her shoulders not quite matching the sound. She keeps her focus mostly on the pot, not on him.
Delaney isgorgeous.
Boone says my name, and three heads turn.
Silas grins. “Look who finally left his harem of horses to join the rest of humanity.”
Sadie slides off the stool and barrels into me. “Caleb! We’re having chicken and potatoes and carrots and magic gravy and real bread. Not the sad bread from the bag.”
“Sad bread, huh?” I say, scooping her up. “Did the bread cry?”
She giggles. “It tasted like it wanted to.”
“Good to know.”
I glance up, and Delaney’s watching us, spoon paused midair. Her eyes are a hazel that shifts in the light, and right now they’re somewhere between cautious and curious.
I’m suddenly aware of the hay in my hair and the dirt on my boots.
“Caleb,” Boone says again, slow with introductions he doesn’t give often, “this is Delaney Rivers. Our new chef.” He looks at her. “Delaney, this is Caleb. He keeps the animals from mutinying.”
“Hi,” she says, wiping one hand nervously on her apron before offering it.
I set Sadie back on her feet and take Delaney’s hand.
Her palm is warm. Slightly callused, same as mine, but in different places, knife handle probably. She smells of rosemary and lemon.
“Delaney,” I repeat, and it feels good in my mouth. “Nice to meet you.”
She gives me a quick, uncertain smile that hits me somewhere I don’t want to examine too long. “You too. Sorry dinner’s a little later than planned. I’m still figuring out how long it takes for… everything.”
I look around. Table set, food almost ready, Sadie not climbing the cabinets.
“Looks like you figured it out fine.”
Her shoulders drop a notch, as if she’d been braced for criticism.
Silas, never one to miss an opportunity, claps his hands together. “Everyone, sit. Eat. Tell Delaney how brilliant and life-changing her cooking is while I take all the credit for hiring her.”
Delaney’s smile goes a shade too bright at that, her hand tightening on the back of a chair like she’d rather disappear than be the center of attention.
Boone snorts. “You had nothing to do with it.”
“I absolutely did,” Silas lies, sauntering toward the table. “Emotionally. Spiritually.”
We settle in. Boone at the head of the table, Sadie next to him. I take my usual spot on the other side, across from Silas. Delaney moves around the table, setting down a roast chicken that could be out of a magazine. Crispy skin, herbs tucked everywhere, juices pooling on the platter.
Next comes a pan of roasted potatoes and carrots, edges browned and crisp. Then a bowl of bright green beans with slivers of almond. Finally, a plate of thick slices of bread, the crust dark and crackling.
I can’t remember the last time this table looked this good.
“Smells amazing,” I say before I think better of it.
