Chapter 6
The kitchen smelled wonderful. Juni hovered in the doorway, her stomach growling as she watched Goraath in there.
“Can I help?”
He paused, a knife halfway to the cutting board and glanced at her, then away. “You don’t need to.”
Not a no. Progress.
She stepped into the kitchen. “I want to.”
Another pause. Then he shifted across, making room at the counter. There wasn’t much room… but it was an invitation and that was all that mattered
She grabbed a second knife from the block. “What are we making?”
“Stew.” He started cutting the purple root vegetable she recognized from the market. His knife flashed with the ease of long practice. “Simple. Filling.”
“Sounds perfect.”
They worked in silence for a few minutes. Or tried to. The kitchen was too small for both of them at the same time. She moved and his arm brushed hers. Heat burned her cheeks and she pressed closer to the counter so she was out of the way.
“Sorry.”
He grunted. Not annoyed. Just... acknowledging.
The vegetables went into a pot with some kind of stock that smelled savory and rich. Steam rose between them as he adjusted the heat. She reached for the spoon at the same time he did. Their fingers collided.
Both of them froze.
His hand was massive next to hers. Scarred knuckles, calluses from years of work. He could crush her fingers without trying. Instead, he pulled back like she’d burned him.
“You stir.” His voice was rougher than usual.
She stirred. The motion gave her something to focus on besides the way he filled the space, heat radiating from his body, the scent of earth and something uniquely him that made her stomach do weird things.
“The vendor at the market.” She kept her voice light, conversational. “He said you forget to eat vegetables.”
A sound that might have been amusement. “Raaith talks too much.”
“He seemed nice. Worried about you.”
“Old males with nothing better to do.” But there was no bite in it. Almost affection, even.
The stew bubbled. She kept stirring while he pulled bowls from a high shelf. No stretching required for him. Must be nice.
“How long have you lived here?” The question slipped out before she could stop it. She’d been trying not to pepper him with questions, but the relative peace between them made her brave.
“Most of my life.”
“You’ve never lived anywhere else?”
“For a while. Came back though.”
She wanted to ask more. About where he’d been when he’d left…About his parents, and about growing up here. But he was actually answering, and she didn’t want to push.
They ate at the small table, bowls steaming between them. The silence wasn’t hostile. Wasn’t comfortable either, but better. Definitely better than this morning’s argument about Christmas.
She caught him watching her. Quick glances when he thought she wasn’t looking. His gaze lingered on her hands wrapped around the bowl, on her mouth when she talked about the market. When she caught him, he looked away, jaw tight.
The third time it happened, warmth pooled low in her belly.
“The other women seemed happy.” She needed words to fill the charged air. “With their matches, I mean. Autumn was already helping at the clinic.”
“Good for them.”
“Aida’s excited about the engineering complex. She said the tech here is completely different from Earth’s approach.”
He took another bite. She watched his throat work and immediately looked away. What was wrong with her?
“You miss it? Earth?”
The question surprised her. He’d actually asked something.
“Some things.” She set down her spoon. “Not the job situation. Not the... the reasons I left. But small things. Coffee. Rain that doesn’t freeze before it hits the ground. Chocolate cake.”
“Chocolate cake?”
A smile tugged at her lips. “Stupid, right? Of all the things to miss.”
He didn’t answer, but he was listening. Actually listening, not just enduring her chatter.
The way he’d listened for the baby’s breathing. Patient. Steady.
She took another bite and didn’t look at him. Say something. Anything. Change the subject before he noticed the heat creeping up her neck.
“Oh!” She jumped up, remembering. “I have something.”
The little cake sat on the counter where she’d left it, wrapped in the vendor’s cloth. She brought it to the table, unwrapping the small golden pastry. It smelled sweet, with spices she didn’t recognize.
“What is it?”
“A cake. The vendor at the market gave it to me.” She found another knife, started cutting it in half. “Said it brings sweetness to new homes.”
His hand covered hers, stopping the knife. She looked up, found him frowning.
“It was given to you.”
“So?”
“So you should eat it.”
She stared at him. “But you don’t have any.”
“I don’t need cake.”
“Nobody needs cake. That’s not the point.” She pulled her hand free, and finished cutting. Two equal pieces. “It’s not fair for me to have cake when you don’t.”
Something shifted in his expression. Confusion, maybe. Like she’d said something in a language he didn’t speak.
“You don’t owe me anything.”
“I’m not... this isn’t about owing.” She slid his half across the table. “It’s sharing. That’s what you do when you live with someone.”
He stared at the cake like it might bite him.
“It’s just cake, Goraath.”
He picked up his piece, took a careful bite. His eyebrows rose.
“Good?”
“Sweet.” Not a complaint, just an observation. “Different from what we usually make.”
She tasted hers. He was right, it was sweet, but with a complexity underneath. Spices that warmed her tongue, a richness that reminded her of...
“Cinnamon.” The word was soft. “It’s not, but it’s close. My grandmother used to make cake with cinnamon in it.”
He’d stopped eating, watching her.
“Every birthday, she’d make this massive three-layer cake. The frosting was so rich you could only eat one piece without feeling sick, but I always tried for two.”
Her throat tightened. God, she hadn’t thought about that cake in years.
“When she got sick, I tried to make it myself. Couldn’t get it right. Then cocoa stopped being available in our district. It was too expensive, not considered and essential. I tried carob once.” She wrinkled her nose. “It wasn’t the same. Not even close.”
“When did she die?”
The question was gruff but not unkind.
“Eight years ago. Before everything went to hell with my job. She would have been furious about what happened. Probably would have marched into that office herself and given them a piece of her mind.”
“She protected you.”
“Yeah. She did.”
They finished the cake in silence. But it was a different silence. Like something had shifted between them, some small wall coming down.
She gathered the dishes, needing to move. He stood at the same time, reaching for his bowl. They collided in the small space between table and counter. Her hip against his thigh. His hand brushing her waist as he steadied her.
Heat shot through her.
“Sorry, I—”
“It’s—”
They both stopped. She was too close. So close she could see the gold flecks in his eyes, and the way his pupils contracted a little as he looked down at her.
This close, she could almost imagine that softness she’d seen in the barn. The version of him that murmured endearments to frightened creatures and smiled. His hand was still on her waist. Massive. Warm through her tunic. She should step back.
She didn’t.
Neither did he.
His gaze dropped to her mouth, lingered there for one heartbeat, two, then jerked away.
He stepped back. “I need to check the krulaati.”
“Right. Of course.”
Grabbing his jacket, he headed for the door. Then he stopped and looked over his shoulder at her.
“The cake. Thank you.”
Then he was gone.
Juni stood in the empty kitchen. The house felt smaller somehow. Tighter. Like the walls were pressing in.
She cleaned the dishes. Wiped the counter. Straightened things that didn’t need straightening. Anything to keep her hands busy while her mind raced.
That look. The way his hand had felt on her waist. The careful distance he’d put between them after.
She needed air. Needed to move. Needed to not think about how his voice had roughened when he’d thanked her, how his eyes had lingered on her mouth, how the kitchen still smelled of him, that warm scent she couldn’t name.
She grabbed the oversized jacket he’d given her for the trip to town. She’d clear her head and get some fresh air at the same time as she explored the ranch.
Anything to stop feeling like something inside her was coiled and ready to snap.
The cold would help. It had to help.
Because staying in this house, thinking about him out there with the animals, thinking about the way he’d looked at her...
That way lay madness.
The breath that she took when she stepped outside was cold and biting.
Juni stood on the doorstep, looking out.
The ranch spread out before her, pale moonlight turning everything silver and shadow.
There were no lights except for the soft glow from the house behind her.
She picked a direction at random and walked, gravel crunching under her boots.
Her breath clouded in front of her face.
She walked past the main barn with its weathered sides and past the equipment sheds, metal roofs gleaming dully under the stars. The silence was complete. There was no traffic, no neighbors, no hum of machinery. Just the occasional creak of wood and the sound of her footsteps.
Perfect. Exactly what she needed to get her head straight. To stop thinking about the way his voice had gone rough when he’d said her name. The way his hands had felt impossibly hot through her shirt.
Except her body wasn’t cooperating. Every step reminded her how hyperaware her skin felt, how her clothes pressed too tightly everywhere, and how that hollow ache low in her belly had nothing to do with hunger and everything to do with—
Stop it.