Page 73 of Brambles and Bellflowers
“What are you up to?” Miles stomped past me and snatched the bag and pot from Damen. His voice was too low to capture, but I could see his face easily enough. “I told you it was too soon!”
“What?” Damen asked, lowering his arms.
“She’s angry!” Miles waved a hand in my direction. “And it’s all your fault!”
Damen narrowed his eyes. “You’re the one who ran off.”
“Don’t make this about me,” Miles rebutted. “Pushing too fast isn’t going to help.”
“But what you did wasn’t helping either,” Damen pointed out. He glanced at me, and by now, he knew I could read his lips, but he didn’t make any move to hide his words. “Leaving without proper explanation.”
“I left a note,” Miles protested, though not as confidently as before. “I didn’t realize…”
His words trailed off as he finally registered what he was holding. He stared between the pot in his hands and Damen with growing suspicion. “Wait, what exactly were you planning to make with this?"
“Ramen,” Damen replied, allowing for this change of subject.
We had ramen?
“It has everything you need,” Damen continued. “Noodles, the flavor packet… It’s easy enough.”
“No!” Miles replied and shrugged off his backpack. “You three are seriously the worst at camping.”
I nodded—they really were.
“Just get some water,” he commanded, pulling cloth-wrapped bundles from his bag.
Damen hovered over the witch’s shoulder instead of obeying. “What do you have?”
“Do what I said.” Miles pushed Damen away. “I told you, you have no kitchen privileges yet. Julian, why were you sitting there? You should have stopped him.”
Julian shrugged. “It was amusing.”
“We’re notinthe kitchen.” Damen stepped back with a frown, but still, he grabbed a canteen and stalked off toward the water. “We’re in the middle of the woods.”
“It still counts,” Miles called after him.
“What do you have?” I asked, sitting on my knees beside the witch. I pulled at one of the bundles. “What’s in here?”
“Jerky,” Miles answered, and my heart sank.
I wrinkled my nose. The last thing I wanted was more dried meat.
“I can see that Titus has been feeding you from his stash.” Miles sighed. He pulled out a knife and began to cut into an onion. A pot was already over the fire, with a second ready beside it. “Don’t worry,” Miles continued. “I have the good stuff. There’s also herbs, potatoes, and some food bars.”
Despite making fun of the ramen, Miles had stolen from the stash and had four packets of flavored noodles beside his knee. Since he’d asked Damen to get water, he obviously planned to use them. “What are you making?”
“One of my originals, I call it Trailside Noodle Pot.” He dropped the sliced onion and mushrooms into the pot.
“You made it up just now,” Titus said, and Miles shrugged.
Damen returned with the water, dropped the canister into Miles’s hands, and sat on a flat stone near the fire. He seemed mesmerized, watching Miles’s movements as he completed the most rudimentary tasks, such as pouring water over onions.
While Miles worked in silence, and Julian and Titus sat in relaxed, yet fragile, peace, Damen appeared perplexed.
“Can’t you cook?” I asked him, noting how his gray eyes seemed to follow Miles’s every movement.
Damen jumped, his elbow slipping off his knee, as his face turned red. “Yes.” His voice was curt, and he could not hold my gaze. “What would make you think I can’t?”
