He places a chaste kiss on the back of my hand, his lips soft and warm.
“Truly, thank you. Thank you for accepting the job here. Thank you for… forgiving me after what a mess I made of your dinner.”
I have to smile. How could I not forgive him after the meal he made for me tonight? After discovering how kind and sweet and thoughtful he is?
“I think I understand you a little better now,” I say. Rupert gets back up to his feet, but doesn’t release me, and I don’t think I want him to. “I want to support you as best I can.”
“Just your presence lifts my spirits.” He strokes the back of my hand with his big thumb, the very tip of his claw dragging over my skin in a way that doesn’t hurt but leaves a tiny red mark. “I very much look forward to having dinner with you again.”
Eventually, Rupert lets go and we stand there without speaking. I think neither of us wants to say goodbye first.
“I suppose I should go to bed,” I finally say, heading to the door.
Rupert bows his head. “I hope you sleep well, Peony.” But before I can leave, he calls out, “Wait!”
I spin around, almost hoping he’s come up with some other way we can keep talking.
“Tomorrow, will you go on a walk with me?” he asks. “The weather is supposed to be sunny and fair, though brisk.”
A chance to wear my new coat and spend a little more time together? Twist my arm.
I grin. “I would love that. Perhaps after lunch?”
His return smile is full of shiny fangs. “After lunch, then.”
It’s hard to get to sleep that night with everything that happened this evening and how much I’m anticipating tomorrow, but I do manage it after an hour of staring at my ceiling.
The next morning is bright and pleasant, though cold, as Rupert predicted. I rise out of bed and stretch in front of the window, soaking up the fresh beams coming in through the glass. It’s exciting to choose which clothes I want to wear that morning instead of putting on the same thing every day. I go for one of my new patterned blouses, then a pair of jeans that perfectly hug my butt.
Am I really thinking about how my pants make my ass look? But… I want Rupert to see, and I want him to like it. I know I shouldn’t, that we’re just friends, but his opinion of me matters immensely.
I putter around all morning, then cook some French toast with mascarpone cream and bacon for brunch. When I prepare it on a silver plate as I always do, though, a tall figure darkens the doorway.
“Peony,” Rupert breathes, stepping into the kitchen. He must feel much more comfortable with me after last night if he’s willing to show himself without preparation.
I transfer his food to a regular plate, then slide it onto the counter. He seats himself on one of the stools, humorously dwarfing it.
“Oh, wow,” he says, biting into the toast. “How do you make something so simple taste amazing?”
“I let it sit in the batter, and I season the batter with spices and sugar. Then… I use a lot of butter.”
We both laugh. Butter is the secret to tasty cooking. It always is.
While we eat, we settle into a comfortable conversation about other tips and tricks in the kitchen. Rupert has all sorts of traditional French culinary knowledge, knowledge I didn’t obtain by working my way up from dishwasher. It took years for me to learn by experience and example, and I’m one hundred percent self-taught.
Then we’re finished, and Kellen still hasn’t appeared for his own meal yet. I cover a plate for him and put it in the fridge, and Rupert texts him. Somehow he’s able to use the pads of his fingers to tap the screen without his claws getting in the way.
“Hm. No response.” Rupert cocks a ridged brow. “I hope he’s all right.”
“He needs a day off sometimes.” I get up off my stool and take my dish to the sink. “Maybe he’s on a date or something?”
Rupert gawps at me. “A date? Kellen?”
“Why not? He’s a nice man, and good-looking.”
Something I can’t decipher darkens Rupert’s eyes.
“Yes, he is.” He gets to his feet, too, and silently we each put our dishes in the dishwasher. I start to tidy up pans, but Rupert stops me.
