Page 114 of A Curse On Black Lake
She blinks a few times and nods.
“Then let’s make some homemade butter.”
Eliana smiles and kisses my nose, reaching for the bucket.
Chapter thirty-eight
Killian
“Carlaandtheothersare happy now. I might have given them a couple scoops of oats,” I tell Eliana as I come in the house.
“Oh, I’m sure they’re going to be your best friend now,” she says, stirring eggs in a skillet.
“I told you I would cook,” I mutter and grab a couple of mason jars she brought and pour the goat milk into them.
“Thank you,” she says.
“You’re welcome.” I kiss her temple and watch her stir the eggs.
“Move,” I command and reach around for the wooden spatula in her hand.
She hands me the utensil and checks the oven. “What did you make?” I ask her.
“Biscuits.”
“I wasn’t gone that long,” I mutter.
She stirs the sausage gravy in the other pan.
“There were days I had to be quick because Grams needed me and there was so much to do because she couldn’t help. So I got fast at it, no big deal.”
I flip the burner off, and pull her to my side. “Hey, it’s okay, I just want to take care of you.”
“Thank you, I’m not used to this,” she says.
“Your Grams helped you though. Didn’t she take care of you as a kid?”
She wipes her eye. “She did. I owe her everything. Towards the end, I was her caretaker.”
“I’m sure that was a really difficult adjustment. I get it though. I had to do that with my dad. It’s hard watching them … decline,” I say, rocks filling my throat.
“She was always larger than life to me. She was my whole world. I didn’t mind taking care of her, but I hated the reminder that she was about to leave me.”
The oven beeps, and she pulls out the biscuits, setting them on the stove.
I can tell she’s done with the conversation, so I don’t push her on it, and grab some plates. It doesn’t matter if we haven’t eaten all day, nor does it matter if it’s three in the afternoon. Breakfast is always good.
“Will you let me feedyounext time?” I ask her as we sit down.
Her blue eyes feel heavy on my skin, and sadness fills her features. I reach across the table, pulling her hand into mine.
She smiles sadly and squeezes back. I want to walk around the round table and pull her into my arms, but hesitate. I’m all in with Eliana, but I realize that might not be the case for her. She told me yes, but is this temporary? Is this more? I know I’m getting ahead of myself. But I can’t help it. I want to know.
At least she’s at a point she can acknowledge we are beyond friendship, and it’s from more than simple proximity. I can’t befriendswith her. I’m too far gone.
“What was it like being a Sheriff?” Eliana asks, bringing me out of my thoughts that seem to only center around her.
I huff a laugh and take a bite, trying to ignore the way my stomach clenches with the question. I loved my job for a long time. I felt like I was making a difference until I was promoted to Captain which took on more of a detective role. Then, the bodies continued to pile up. Cases continued to stack up around my desk, and I was suddenly drowning under the blackness of unsolved murders and people who deserve justice.
