Page 62 of A Spell for Midwinter's Heart
“Also, practice.”
Rowan sighed. “Problem number two. My mom dominated the kitchen growing up. It’s…her thing. And since going away, I haven’t had a lot of excuses to practice. Cooking for one is expensive and depressing.”
He nodded and started arranging the potatoes evenly around the pan. “I hear you. I had to learn to cook for my father and me, otherwise I might not have either.”
Rowan didn’t bother to disguise the judgment in her voice as she said, “Your dad never considered maybe he should rise to the occasion and learn?”
Gavin shook his head. “Too busy working. I took care of myself a lot after…we lost her.”
“Sounds like you took care of him too,” muttered Rowan. Gavin opened his mouth to protest but closed it, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. “It wasn’t fair you had to do that,” she added, digging in.
He shrugged. “It wasn’t, but it had to be done. There was no food, so I cooked.” Potatoes in place, he moved on to smashing garlic with the flat of the knife blade. “Garbage and dishes piled up high enough to attract rats, so I cleaned.” He moved to the sink, releasing hot water in a spray to cleanse the knife blade before returning. “Things need done, people do them—that’s how we survive and move forward.” Gavin stopped then and took a long deep breath, and she studied him, eyes pricking at the corners with tears, thinking of the child he didn’t get to be.
“It still wasn’t fair,” she murmured.
His eyes danced with a smile. “ ‘Life isn’t fair, it’s just fairer than death.’ Anyway, that’s why it was so nice to come out here—get taken care of for a few days. Even if it meant composting toilets.”
“You know, I don’t actually hate composting toilets?”
“You would if you had to do the upkeep.”
Rowan drifted around the counter, sliding between him and the stove. He peered down at her with a quirked brow.
“Show me something,” she said. “Let me help.”
“Well, it’s time to add the garlic…Think you can handle that?”
“Yes,” she said, reaching over for the pile he’d readied before sprinkling the garlic evenly around the pan.
He stepped away for a moment, gathering spices, and on his return settled in close—close enough to detect the way the sharp scents of garlic and onion clung to his skin and mixed with his own musky aroma. Close enough that the firm line of his hips trapped her against the counter’s edge, before he noticed and settled half a step back. She shivered as his hand slid down her arm, depositing a jar of smoked paprika in her hand.
His voice was close to her ear. “How about seasoning?”
“Not so confident,” she whispered, mouth dry.
“That’s why I’m here.” He guided her hand, leading her as she shook the paprika over the skillet. Its earthy aroma joined the delectable smells coming from the pan, and they followed it up with cayenne, salt, and pepper. Each time he let her apply the spice, gently indicating when she should stop. When she’d finished the pepper, he leaned down and snaked around her body to pick up the skillet and give it a quick shake, tossing the potatoes to mix it all together.
“Wise not to trust me with that part,” she murmured as he released the skillet. “We’d have ended up with potatoes all over the place.” Her stomach growled at the delicious smells coming out of the pan.
“Why don’t you get started on the pastries?”
“You’ll have to let me out,” she murmured, gesturing to the way his arms had boxed her in against the counter. He pulled back but lingered at her ear, hot breath tickling. Her eyes shut at thesensation, neck arching in unconscious invitation, and he pressed his lips to the most sensitive place behind her ear.
Rowan gasped, everything in her body coiling deliciously. He released her, stepping away. She was left wobbling, weak in the knees, as she moved to a spot at the counter where the pastries were waiting and slid into a chair. His face was shockingly neutral as he finished cooking up the potatoes.
How had he found that spot so quickly? She shoved tekake into her mouth to stop thinking about it.
The cake melted against her tongue, filling her senses with an explosion of butter and nutty brown sugar. Ravenous, she continued to stuff her mouth, washing the pastry down with the coffee. It was only when she started eating that she realized how hungry she’d been. The trip up the mountain hadn’t been short, and they’d gone straight past brunch and well into lunchtime.
Gavin flipped the potatoes and let them settle, joining her for a piece of cake. He leaned down to wipe some crumbs from her face. “You’ve got something here…”
His hand lingered, his thumb trailing across her lips. Her tongue flicked to taste him—salty and sharp with spice. She wondered what the rest of him tasted like, and with the way he looked at her, warm gaze serious with intent, it was easy to imagine he was thinking something similar. The gap between them narrowed as he leaned in, and her stomach gave a tumble.
But he only whispered, “Food’s done,” and his coy smile confirmed he was aware of exactly what he’d been doing.
23
The deck had been swept clean, and comfortable-looking chairs surrounded a metal firepit already glowing with burning logs. It was all arranged over a thick rug in a black-and-white sunburst pattern, and heavy woolen blankets in earth tones were available in a wicker basket by the door. A wood-fired oak barrel sauna radiated in a corner.
