Leftover chicken bones, stock.
Tomatoes starting to wrinkle, sauce.
Bread from yesterday, croutons.
The back door opens, letting a cool breeze wash through the room.
“Smells productive in here,” Silas drawls, strolling in with that famous smirk of his.
He’s in jeans and a fitted tee shirt, some kind of easy charm clinging to him like another layer of clothing. Sunglasses pushed up on his head, hair a little wild from the wind.
“Smells of lemon and guilt,” I mutter.
He grins. “My two favorite flavors.”
I roll my eyes.
Sadie hops off her chair. “Uncle Silas, are we going out?”
“Sure are, sweet.” He swings her up with one arm, settling her on his hip. “Just came to see if our resident genius chef wanted to tag along.”
I blink. “Tag along… where?”
“To the farmers market,” he says, like it’s obvious. “We’ve got a stall there every Saturday. Eggs, produce, sometimes baked things if Boone remembers he’s not a robot.” He tilts his head at me. “Figured you might want to see us set up the circus.”
“I dunno,” I hedge. “I have… stuff.”
He glances pointedly at the currently clean counters.
“Let me rephrase. If you spend one more hour in this kitchen today, you’re going to start labeling the spoons by emotional tone. Come watch us play nice with the town.”
“I don’t label spoons,” I protest.
“Yet.” He smirks. “Come on. You’ll get a feel for people. And the Claymores always bring samples. Even on setup day. You look like you need a free cookie and a break from your own thoughts.”
Rude.
Accurate.
I hesitate.
“Please?” Sadie adds, trying out her best puppy eyes. “I can show you everything. There’s a man who sells honey and a lady with soaps, and Maggie tells fortunes.”
“Fortunes?” I repeat.
“She does tarot,” Sadie states gleefully. “But for kids, she just makes up stories. It’s fun.”
I look between the two of them: Silas with his hopeful grin, Sadie practically vibrating with excitement.
It’s just a market setup. It’s outside. It’s a chance to understand this place and the people they’re attached to.
And honestly? The idea of staying here, alone, steeping in my own brain soup, is not appealing.
“Okay,” I say finally. “I’ll come.”
Sadie cheers.
Silas looks smug. “Knew you’d make the smart choice.”
