Chapter 19
Una stood outside the bakehouse door for longer than she would ever admit.
She had told herself, all afternoon, that she would not come. She had slipped the letter into her pocket, unsure what to do with it. Checked the buttons on her sleeve. And told herself that at the very least, she could make herself a cup of tea.
So she filled the bucket at the cistern and stepped through the open bakehouse door before she could talk herself out of it again.
He instantly jumped to his feet, his face lighting up at the sight of her.
She had meant to come in with her head held high and her armor in place. But the sight of his eager face was already undoing her.
"Una." He crossed to her at once, grinning, and lifted the water pail out of her hands before she could carry it to the kettle. "I already made you tea."
She blinked at him. She had been prepared for pleading, for argument, for bracing. But she had not been prepared for a beaming apprentice, relieving her of a bucket of water. "The apprentice," she said, trying not to smile, "has made the master a cup of tea?"
"He did." He attempted a bow, but the heavy pail of water threw him off balance, sloshing water over the rim and drenching his feet.
She laughed, unable to stop herself at the sight of him fighting with his balance as the water continued to splash all over him.
"Let me put this away," he said, laughing now, too. "What remains of it, anyway."
By the time he came back from emptying the pail, she had retreated to her usual place at the corner counter and wrapped both hands around the hot clay mug waiting there, letting the heat of it calm her now-racing heart.
She closed her eyes and breathed in the steam, wondering what he had chosen to brew for her.
"Lavender," she said. "And lemon balm." She opened her eyes to find him staring at her, a smile still on his face.
He nodded. "Try it?"
She tipped the cup. The lavender was both bright and soft, with the lemon balm rounding it out with an earthy tang. It was a mix she had made many times, and he had combined them perfectly. "Delicious," she admitted, setting it down.
"Does that count," he asked, coming to join her, "as you eating something I created?"
She felt the corner of her mouth betray her.
She looked down to avoid looking at him, but her eyes landed on the tools he had laid out next to the tea.
His tools. The cocoa paste, the mortar and pestle.
He had moved his items closer to be nearer to her.
Her heart continued to race. She looked back up.
Perhaps it would be more calming to stare into his deep brown eyes.
"Definitely not," she said. "That was drinking. Not eating."
"Ah." He smiled, accepting her verdict. "Good point."
She pointed to the stone bowl of the mortar in front of him which was filled with steaming water. "What are you doing?"
"Grinding the cocoa one more time tonight," he said, "before I make you something to eat, and not drink." He carried the bowl to the back door and tossed the water into the dark. "I want the natural oil of the cocoa to be fully warm before I use the paste."
"That makes sense," she said. "Like butter, worked into flour while it is too warm will fully integrate instead of creating laminated layers."
"Precisely." He emptied the jar of cocoa paste into the warmed mortar and began to grind it.
Una leaned forward, wanting to see the transformation he had spoken of. Sure enough, the chilled paste slowly melted against the warm stone, becoming glossy and dark as it caught the lantern light.
"It's moving like cream," she said.
"It's the heat," Matthias said. "It is liquid when it is warm, but solid when it is chilled. Like butter." He looked up at her. "Or cream. Which is exactly what I was thinking of adding, but I need your help."
She raised her eyebrows. "I can go get the cream," she said.
"No," he replied, pointing to another jar.
"I have already fetched some. But I want this .
. ." He tipped his chin toward the cocoa below him.
". . . to taste like that." He pointed to her tea.
"I want to fold your tea into my cocoa. I think the best way to do it would be to scald the herbs in with the cream, but I don't know how strong to make the flavor. "
Una tilted her head, considering. "I've never tasted a tea made with cream before," she said.
"I know," Matthias replied. "I've never made a tea with cream before."
Una nodded. He was asking her to figure this out with him. Together.
"It will have to be brewed strong," she said. "To stand up to both the cream and the intense flavor of the cocoa."
Matthias nodded. "You don't have to try the cream tonight," he said. "But I think it will make an incredible mixture with the cocoa."
Una took a steadying breath. Her arms were itching, but this time it was not because her skin was on fire.
It was because she was dying to unbutton her cuffs.
To roll up her sleeves in this heat and be the girl who could laugh easily instead of hiding in her room for four days.
"Will you stay with me?" she asked. "All night?
Like you did last time? Just in case the cream isn't safe? "
Matthias leaned toward her, his entire face softening. "I would never dream of leaving you to face that alone."
Keeping her eyes glued to his own, Una reached down and undid the button on her cuffs. She rolled up her sleeves, pushing them past her elbow, ready to work. "Let's brew some cream, then."
They worked together. Placing a small pot of cream over a low flame, stirring in a chopped mixture of lavender and lemon balm until the pot started to steam. She bent over the pot, bumping her head against his to smell the brew as it slowly steeped.
When the cream was cool enough to touch, she strained the mixture through a cloth, squeezing as much flavor as she could out of the lemon balm leaves and lavender buds.
Matthias' eyes were shining brighter than the cocoa as he lifted the pot of cream and began to pour it in a slow, steady stream over the cocoa paste.
Una stirred the bowl with slow, even passes, like she was making a choux.
At first, the cocoa and cream resisted each other, with brown flecks of cocoa nib swimming in the heavy cream mixture.
Then, suddenly, the warm fat in the cream melded with the warm oil of the cocoa, and it folded into a beautiful, dense, lighter brown mixture with the consistency of a pudding.
Una leaned over the bowl, inhaling the roasted, floral, rich scent of it.
Matthias, grinning from ear to ear, lifted a spoon. "It might be terrible," he said.
"There is only one way to find out," she replied.
Matthias dipped the spoon into the mixture, retrieving a single dollop from the center of the bowl. He held it out to her. "It's your choice, Una," he said, his voice quiet.
Una looked from his eyes to the now glossy cocoa mixture they had made. They had, inadvertently, created the same hue of his brown eyes. She took the spoon from him. For a moment, she felt the old fear creep into her lungs, making it hard to breathe.
But she had tasted cream before, many times when she had been forced to take a bite of a presentation bake.
And she already knew the worst that could happen.
And as far back as she could remember, she had never had cream in the absence of wheat.
Choux buns filled with pastry cream. Fruit tarts with whipped cream on top.
She wanted to know.
And she wanted to taste this.
She lifted the spoon—holding it between them while she held his gaze—then placed it in her mouth.
The flavor was so rich that she instantly closed her eyes.
The cocoa mixture melted across her tongue.
It was bitter at first, that deep roasted flavor hitting strong.
But it was different from the nibs. The cream made the bitter more palatable, more spread out.
And then the lavender hit, floral and light, contrasting beautifully with the roasted cocoa.
The lemon balm was barely present, just enough to provide an herbal undertone.
"Oh," she breathed, opening her eyes.
"Well?" His voice cracked.
"Try it," she said, dipping her spoon back into the mixture and handing it over to him.
She watched as he too, closed his eyes to enjoy the full breadth of flavor.
"Well?" he repeated a few moments later, after he had swallowed his bite.
"It is the most delicious thing I have ever tasted," she said.
They stared at each other, savoring the flavor as they smiled.
"Does that count as something I created?" he finally said.
"Yes." Una laughed. "Although I believe we both created it."
Matthias laughed with her. "And now," he said.
"We wait," Una finished for him.
"Imagine what we could do with this!" Matthias reached for his notebook, and they spent the next hour discussing flavors and techniques they could try next.
After nearly an hour of animated discussion, Una glanced down at her bare wrists. Her skin was clear.
Matthias watched her, hopeful.
"It might be too soon," Una said. She could feel a sliver of hope, but she was not ready to trust it yet. "Tell me about your plans for your father's bakery."
Matthias nodded, understanding her hesitation and launched into an elaborate explanation of the things he wanted to do as a flourier when he returned home.
Una listened, happy to spend the late hour imagining the life he described.
He, in turn, asked her what she would do if she had a larger plot of land to truly garden on. Una instantly felt her tiredness disappear as she described her dream garden to him.
They conversed easily, and happily, as the lantern slowly dimmed and the purple light of the pre-dawn morning shone through the bakehouse windows.
Una looked down at her wrists, though she already knew the answer she was seeking. There was no itch. No burn. She turned her wrists over. The skin was clear.
She looked up into Matthias expectant eyes. He wanted to smile, she could see it hovering around his lips. But he was waiting for her.
She laughed, awkwardly. Fearfully. It had been hours. She looked back down at her clear skin and let the full happiness of that truth wash over her.
She wanted to dance for joy. So she did. "It wasn't the cream!" she shrieked, loud enough to wake the entire palace if they weren’t secluded in the bakehouse.
"It wasn't the cream!" Matthias echoed with her. He stood up, holding out his hands.
Una instantly reached back, placing her hands in his. He half pulled her back to the open center of the room and she half pushed him there, both of them laughing.
When they had the room, they began to spin around each other, hands anchoring them together. Una was not sure which of them started it, as it had felt like the only natural expression of her joy. Their joy.
For some immutable reason, Matthias was as delighted by this as she was.
She didn't question it. She didn't want to. She didn't need to.
When they stumbled to a halt, breathless, they were standing very close, and neither of them let go.
She looked up at him—at his face open and unguarded above hers, no calculation left in it anywhere—and for once she did not make herself look away. For once she let him see her seeing him.
He leaned forward, bringing his face to hover right above hers. "I love the way your nose tilts up toward the sky," he said.
"You do?" she said, breathless from the spinning.
He touched his nose to hers, nudging her face to tilt up toward him.
She bounced up onto her toes, wanting to be as close to him as possible. "I love the color of your eyes," she said. "It reminds me of cocoa."
"It does?" he asked. His face was too close to hers for her to see his mouth, but from the way he said the words, she knew he was smiling.
She closed the distance between them, bringing her mouth to meet his own.
He wrapped his arms around her back, steadying them both as he kissed her back.
Una dropped back down onto her heels.
He pushed his head down to follow her, but she twisted her face away from him.
"This is lovely," she said with a laugh, dancing out of his arms. "But there is something else I would rather be doing right now."
Running back to the bowl of cocoa, she helped herself to another spoonful.