Page 74 of Brambles and Bellflowers
“He can’t,” Julian said. “He’s horrendously bad at it.”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” I argued. “If you can taste food, you can cook.”
“That’s not how it goes,” Miles interrupted. “But that doesn’t affect you. You’ve always been a good cook.”
“Thanks!” My face heated despite myself. How wonderful it was for someone to have such blind faith in my culinary abilities. “Finn likes my cooking.”
“You cooked for Finn?”
I’d expected the statement—and the look of horror—from Julian. However, it was Damen who was now staring at me, mouth opened, and Damen who was unsuccessfully fighting against the growing redness moving across his neck.
“Yes…” I inched closer to Miles—the only one at peace at my admission.
“That was very nice of you,” Miles said, inching over. There was space next to him now, and he gestured to me. “Fae don’t generally cook for people outside their closest friends and family. Do you want to come help?”
“Okay…” Anything to distract from the suddenly tense atmosphere. “What can I do?”
He pressed the wooden spoon into my hand and instructed me to stir the soupy contents as he poured the flavor packets into the water. Surprisingly, he then added two other ingredients.
“Is that ginger and basil?” I asked, studying the shredded additions.
“Yes,” he said, taking the spoon from me as he stirred the soup clockwise.
“You carry those around with you?”
Miles removed the pot from the fire and gestured toward the other pouches. “I have thyme, rosemary, elderberries, and a jar of witch hazel in my bag too.”
“You packed an apothecary?” I marveled.
He glanced at me. “Iama witch.”
“I know you sometimes do spells…”
“You just witnessed one.” He twirled the spoon between his fingers.
“But…” I glanced at the spoon, and back to the pot. “You did magic?”
Was this like the time he made the special cookies and drinks?
“Yes.” He grinned.
“But…” I hadn’t even noticed him doing anything! He hadn’t even been chanting. “That’s not a cauldron!”
His grin fell, gaze flickering to the others, who’d begun to snicker. “Who is going to lug around a cauldron wherever they go?” he asked, face turning pink.
“Do youhaveone?” I’d never noticed one in Damen’s kitchen either, and I would have remembered. Direct contact with the metal made me break out in hives.
“Yes.” Miles pursed his lips. “I have a cauldron.”
“How big is it?” Large enough to cook a roast in, maybe?
“It’s big enough.”
“Miles wishes he had a bigger cauldron,” Damen interjected.
“Oh…” That was sad. Didn’t he have money? He should have been able to get whatever he needed. But maybe it had to be a gift. I’d heard of such superstitions. I could surprise him with one for Christmas. “Do you need a bigger one?”
“My cauldron is perfectly fine!” Miles wrapped a steel mug with a cloth and pushed it into my hands. “Size doesn’t matter when it comes to kitchen witchery. It’s all about intention.”
