Chapter Eight #3
Maintaining a sense of detachment was not only a measure of self-preservation, it was also a minor rebellion against the pressure that had been thrust upon him from the time he was old enough to understand what he was and who his father was.
The glare she sent his way was hot enough to melt butter. He smiled in return, knowing it would fluster her. Her fingers closed around the egg in her hand.
Crack.
“Darn it.” She hurried to the sink and dropped the mess of runny egg and shell. With her back turned, he noted the tightness in her shoulders. Her movements were abrupt as she cleaned herself and the mess before returning to finish cracking the remaining eggs.
“Can I help? I’m not a paying guest,” he reminded her.
“I’ve got it under control.” She beat the eggs more vigorously than necessary, her lips set in a stubborn line.
He needed her to relax around him. Otherwise it was going to cause problems. If she started avoiding him, he’d have a hard time fulfilling the stipulations of the job and reaping her soul in a way his father deemed satisfactory. Alex couldn’t afford to fail.
“Can I put out dishes or cutlery?” He had no idea how she handled the breakfast service. The dining room was set up with several small tables that sat two or four people and a long sideboard.
Her mouth softened before curving into a small smile. “Thanks, but everything is ready in the dining room.”
It hadn’t been last night. “What time do you get up in the morning?”
“Usually six, but I was awake early.”
It was likely his fault she hadn’t slept well. He’d fared no better. If his preternatural hearing had been working he would have been aware and could have joined her. Maybe it was better he hadn’t known. He wasn’t doing so hot with putting her at ease.
“You sure there isn’t anything I can do? I hate being idle.” It was the truth, but lending a hand would integrate him more fully into her life.
She deftly divided the bowl of eggs between two large skillets and began making pancakes on a separate griddle. “If you’re serious about help—”
“I am,” he interjected before she finished.
She canted her head toward two thermal carafes on the counter. “You can make more coffee and fill one of those. The guests will be coming down any minute. Boil the kettle and fill the one labeled for hot water. That’s for tea.”
“I’m on it.” Carrying his mug over for a refill, he got to work. It was an education watching her seamlessly move from one task to the other. It was like a dance. She scrambled eggs between flipping pancakes, piling the finished ones on a pan in the warming oven.
As they worked side by side, an unexpected warmth spread through him.
He tried to stifle it but failed. She’d begun to hum beneath her breath and tap her toe, listening to some internal music only she could hear.
Some might consider this kind of work mundane or drudgery, but she honestly enjoyed it.
This was the life she’d chosen, the one she was carving out for herself.
And she was going to lose it in a day or two.
The unfairness of it all was a slap in the face. Cilla was vibrantly alive and incredibly special. Hands fisted at his sides, Alex brought his emotions under control. There was nothing he could do to stop it. Fate was something no reaper, not even his father, tampered with.
It was the first time he actively hated who he was and what he had to do.
And if his father caught a hint of it, that attitude would land him in Shadowland for eternity.
Swallowing, he concentrated on the task of filling the carafes and starting more coffee.
He had to distance himself enough not to care too much while caring enough to satisfy the terms of the assignment.
It was like walking a tightrope strung across the Grand Canyon without a safety net.
She’d been uncomfortable having him around earlier; now the tables had been turned. The irony wasn’t lost on him. This was shaping up to be the most brutal reaping of his life, but one he couldn’t walk away from even if he wanted to. Talk about being stuck between a rock and a hard place.
“About the plumbing issue.” Better to stop analyzing his emotions and focus on what he could control.
“Can you really fix it?” She scooped fluffy eggs into a warming tray. “I don’t need you tinkering and causing a larger issue that will lead to a bigger bill. I’d rather call the plumber.”
He tried not to take her lack of faith in his skills personally, but there was no denying it stung his pride. Folding his arms, he leaned against the counter. “I’ve got experience.”
She pointed the spatula at him before flipping the pancakes bubbling on the griddle. “You said you owned garages. That’s not the same as being able to fix plumbing.”
“I’ve done plenty of renovations.” He’d watched plumbing evolve from the most rudimentary systems to what it was today. As an immortal, he needed little rest and had an endless thirst for knowledge. “I can build a house from the ground up.”
“Fine. I’m taking a chance on you. You can get the parts you need at Franks’ Hardware on Main Street. Joshua Franks or one of his sons will be there. Tell them to charge it to the Ivy House account. Don’t mess it up.” Again, she wielded the spatula like a weapon as she issued her warning.
He gave her a crisp salute and a grin. “Yes, ma’am.”
After rolling her eyes, she pointed to the carafes. “Take them into the dining room. The guests are stirring.” Sure enough, there were thumps on the stairs. She grabbed both warming trays and followed close behind him.
“Good morning,” she greeted the men who stumbled into the room.
“There’s coffee and hot water for tea. Here are the scrambled eggs and pancakes.
” She set the trays in the chafing dishes on the buffet.
It was set up next to a glass-covered plate that held a variety of muffins.
“I’ll be right back with bacon and toast.”
“You’re a lifesaver, Cilla.”
When she laughed, her entire face lit up. “Enjoyed the nightlife a bit too much, did you?”
One of them groaned and made a grab for the coffee. “You could say that.”
“We’ll get you fixed up.”
Watching her interact with the guests was a revelation. She was in her element, taking charge, making sure everyone had what they needed. Alex wanted to take her in his arms and shield her from the horror to come but was helpless to stop it.
“Anything wrong?” She stopped beside him.
“No.” Nothing she could fix.
“Get yourself something to eat before you start work. There’s plenty.”
Rather than return to help her in the kitchen, he gave the men a nod, helped himself to some of the food, and took a seat on the far side of the room at a table meant for two. Staring out the window, he wondered if the end would come today or if the waiting had only just begun.