“Okay,” she said softly. “I guess if my brother and Oz trust you, I can try it too.”
My chest tightened as I looked back at her, feeling that twinge of guilt deep in the pit of my stomach.
Trust.
They were trusting me, the Sterlings.
And they shouldn’t, not really.
Chapter 21
Very incompetent minions
Rafe
“I don’t know,Rafe. I’ve never cooked a roast in my life,” Poppy said, throwing her hands up.
“I thought you were coming over to help, you numpty,” I shot back at her as I glared at the massive beef joint that was sitting on my granite work surface.
“Brother of mine, I bring the vibes. You know this. I do not bring culinary expertise. I can’t even remember the last time I turned an oven on if I’m honest with you. Even the microwave confuses me slightly.”
“Great, we’re buggered then.”
I heard the door creak and looked over to see Clara’s face peeking around it into the kitchen and I smiled. “Hi, Clara.”
She gave me a small, tentative smile in return and a low wave. We’d been together now for two weeks, but Clara still wasn’t happy for my family, or anyone else for that matter, knowing about us. It was beyond frustrating to have her inmy arms most nights but have to keep my distance in front of anyone else. And right then all I wanted to do was just take her in my arms, kiss her and hug her to me.
But, as always, my sister had no such qualms about embarrassing anyone in any given situation.
“Clara, darling!” she shouted, dancing over to where Clara was standing, throwing her arms around her. “You’re always so bloody gorgeous in the morning. I’m literally green with envy.”
Clara was stiff for a moment in my sister’s arms before she hugged her back. I did catch a small eye roll as she said, “Poppy, you know perfectly well that you’re the most beautiful girl in any room, you daft article.”
My eyebrows went up. Clara was gradually getting braver. I knew my sister had won her over and the shyness was retreating. I suspected that deep down, Clara wasn’t actually that shy. We still weren’t at the stage where she would tell me everything, so I couldn’t know what exactly she’d been through. But somehow life had made Clara feel like she needed to make herself smaller, quieter, lesser than she should be. And that shit was ending very soon if I had my way.
But the first step of the plan was to integrate her just that little bit more into my world, hence Sunday roast at my house. Normally, we all went to Mum and Dad’s, considering it was a bloody huge country mansion and staffed twenty-four-seven. However, I knew there was very little chance of me persuading Clara to come with us to meet my entire family. And this way, if they came here, then she was a captive audience. The only fly in the ointment was my inability to cook.
I’d attempted to solve this by roping in Martha, who hadprepared a roast for me, including batter for Yorkshire puddings, roast potatoes, a beef joint and vegetables, all of which apparently I just had to “bung in the oven.” What Martha failed to do was leave me very specific instructions on exactly which oven, what temperature and how long, or in fact how to switch the oven on. So, I was somewhat at a loss.
“Save us!” Poppy cried dramatically as she rocked Clara from side to side in a tight hug. Clara was giggling now, which I took as a very good sign. Clara’s giggles were few and far between, but they remained, other than my son’s laughter, my very favourite sound in the world.
“Help!” Poppy cried again as she pushed Clara over towards where I was standing by the granite. When she was within reach, I risked a short side hug and a very soft kiss on her temple. She flushed bright pink but didn’t actively push me away – another encouraging sign.
Clara looked at the beef joint and all the other prepared trays and then blinked. “It looks like you’ve done everything,” she said in confusion. “What do you need my help with?”
“Marthadid everything,” I told her.
“We are merely her minions and, unfortunately, very incompetent minions,” said Poppy.
“Well, just turn the oven on to one-eighty, and, well, the beef will take the longest so put that in first.”
“Right,” I said, looking at the oven, then back at Clara. “Turn on the oven, you say?”
“Uh, yes.”
I scratched the back of my head. “But the problem is, I’ve got three of the blighters and zero clue which one cooks beef.”
Clara let out another small giggle. This time she even snorted, very softly, but it was there. I’d embarrass myself with my shit kitchen skills all day if it could invoke this kind of reaction.
