Chapter 7
Sammy
I’d been chopping vegetables for twenty minutes, and my cutting board looked like a rainbow had exploded on it. Carrots, bell peppers, zucchini, onions. Way more than we needed for dinner, but my hands needed something to do.
Gavrel sat at the kitchen table behind me with a notebook laid out on the smooth surface, his pen moving across the page in that precise way he had. He’d been taking notes for the past half hour, occasionally asking questions, mostly listening while I rambled about ideas for Corey’s class trip.
Two days had passed since the kiss. Two days of him being nothing but professional and helpful and completely, maddeningly normal. As if it had never happened.
“You suggested a scavenger hunt,” he said, tapping his pen against the notebook.
“If we decide to do it, we could include specific plants they need to find. Hide small plastic monsters among the shrubbery. I know someone with a 3D printer who could make them for nothing. We could assign teams so they work together.”
“That’s good, but I wonder if we should keep the activities simpler.” I scraped chopped carrots into a bowl and reached for another. “Jan mentioned some of the kids struggle with cooperation. Teamwork would be educational, but we want the day to be fun, not feel like work.”
“It’ll be exhausting for them, which parents always appreciate.”
I glanced up. He was almost smiling.
“Feydin and I used to cause all kinds of trouble at family gatherings. My aunt would invent activities to tire us out.” He made another note. “Mon Dieu, it rarely worked, but she tried.”
The domestic aspect of this scene wrapped around me like a toasty blanket on a chilly winter’s day. Gavrel at the table, me cooking, afternoon light streaming through the windows. Like we’d done this a hundred times before.
An ache bloomed in my throat, but I couldn’t define why I was feeling the pain.
“What about carving?” he asked. “Nothing complex. Simple shapes with clay. Plastic tools with blunt tips. I could form blocks and let them practice basic techniques.”
“That might be easier, and I’m sure they’d love that.” I started on the bell peppers, my knife moving in a steady rhythm.
“It will be important to keep everything controlled.”
“Jan said she’d bring parent volunteers. We could assign each of them a few children to supervise and help.”
“I’ll provide safety equipment. Gloves, goggles.”
“You don’t have to do all that.”
“I want to.” He looked up from his notes, and our eyes met across the kitchen. “This is important to Corey and you. That makes it important to me.”
Flames crawled up my neck. I focused very hard on the peppers.
Two days ago, his mouth had been on mine, and I’d made that embarrassing sound against his lips. Then I’d run away like a startled rabbit.
He hadn’t mentioned it once.
“What about nature art?” I said, my voice coming out steadier than I felt. “Leaf rubbings, flower pressing. Things they can take home.”
“Excellent idea.” He took more notes. “We could set up stations. Rotate groups through different activities. That’ll keep them engaged. We don’t want them getting bored.”
I nodded.
“Oh,” I said, the idea hitting me. “What if we let them plant something? Like, actually dig in the dirt?”
“Excellent idea.” He smiled, and my belly flipped. “We could have them plant a class tree. Then they can visit it when they come back with their parents.”
“That’s perfect.” I pointed my knife at him. “See? This is why brainstorming works. I never would’ve thought of that.”
“You thought of the planting concept. I only adjusted the execution.”
“Still. It’s better together.”
The words hung in the air between us.
He leaned forward to take a few more notes.
Damn, this was torture. Two days of hyperawareness. I kept catching myself staring at his mouth, remembering how amazing his tail curling around my waist had felt.
He probably thought I was out of my mind. Kiss him, then run away, then act like a jumpy cat every time he came close.
“For the picnic lunch,” I said, desperate to fill the silence, “I was thinking sandwiches, fruit, those little bags of chips kids love. Simple but good.”
“What would you make for the sandwiches?”
“Turkey and cheese, probably. Peanut butter and jelly for the picky kids, as long as there aren’t any nut allergies in his class. A vegetable option. We have gluten-free bread as well.”
“You could do something more creative. Showcase your skills.”
I shook my head. “Kids don’t want creative. They want familiar.”
“Fair point.” He made another note. “What about an herb identification station? Let them taste safe herbs, learn about cooking?”
“You’re good at this.”
“At what?”
“Planning. Thinking ahead. I was so stressed when Jan first asked, and now it feels manageable.”
“That’s because you did the research. I’m just helping organize your ideas.”
But that wasn’t true. He’d added a lot and had seen angles I’d missed. We worked well together, our thoughts building on each other until the whole became better than the parts.
It scared me how natural this felt.
He stretched, his wings rustling against the chair back, and I caught myself watching the way his shoulders moved.
Stop it.
“What would your dream kitchen look like?” he asked without looking up.
I blinked. “What?”
“This kitchen is adequate, but if you could design one yourself, what would you want?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it.”
“Think about it now.”
I looked around the manor’s kitchen. Large, functional, but a touch dated. Dazy had mentioned they planned to renovate; they’d just been focused on the wedding. “More counter space, I guess. Better lighting. Maybe a bigger window over the sink so I could see the gardens while I wash pans.”
He wrote something down.
“Why are you taking notes on that?”
“Just curious.” His expression remained innocent. “Do you prefer sunrise or sunset?”
“That’s random.”
“Humor me.”
“Sunrise, I guess. Mornings with Corey are my favorite. Everything feels possible before the day gets complicated.”
More notes.
“Okay, what’s with the weird questions?”
“Not weird. I’m just getting to know you better.” He tapped his pen against the notebook, still not looking up. “If you could change anything about your living space here, what would it be?”
“We’re guests. I’m not going to complain about—”
“Hypothetically.”
I turned back to my vegetables, uncomfortable with the attention. “I don’t know.”
“Sammy.”
The way he said my name made me pause.
“A reading nook,” I said softly. “Somewhere with good light. Just for me. Not the café office, not the kitchen. Just mine.”
“What else?”
“That’s enough.”
“What else?”
“A view, I guess.” This was dreaming, which made me feel both excited and sad. I longed for so much, all while knowing I’d never have any of it to claim as my own.
“Water or mountains?”
More dreams that wouldn’t come true. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Because you love them equally or because you don’t dare to say?”
Challenging me, was he? “Water. Lake or sea. It doesn’t matter,” I pretty much snapped.
His low laugh rang out, and I almost pivoted and snarled, but why should I do something like that? He was making polite conversation; nothing else.
“What makes you feel most at peace?”
I had to actually think about that one. When was the last time I’d felt truly at peace?
“Corey’s laughter,” I said. “The smell of the gardens. That moment when a dish comes together perfectly, and I know it’s exactly right.”
I found him watching me with those gorgeous silver eyes, and I felt stripped bare.
“What’s something you’ve always wanted but never had time or money for?”
“Gavrel—”
“Please.” The word came out soft. Almost pleading.
“A garden of my own,” I heard myself say. “Not for work but for me. With wildflowers and a bench where I could sit. Maybe a little view of something pretty.”
“The sea or a lake, perhaps.”
“Yeah, sure.” The words came out bitter. I’d long since given up hoping for more than what I could lay my hands on.
His pen moved across the page.
Embarrassment flooded through me. “This is stupid. Forget I said anything.”
“It’s not stupid.”
“I should finish dinner.” I attacked the zucchini with the blade.
“What would you do with a whole day completely to yourself?”
My knife stilled. “What?”
“A day with no responsibilities. No work, no cooking, no errands. Just you. What would you do?”
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Tried again.
Nothing came out.
Because I had no idea. Not a single clue.
“I don’t know,” I whispered.
The realization hit me like a truck. I didn’t know who I was outside of being Corey’s mom. My entire life was about working, cooking, solving problems, and keeping us afloat.
“That’s okay,” Gavrel said.
“No, it’s not.” My vision blurred. I blinked hard, focusing on the cutting board. “I should know that. I should have an answer.”
“When did you last have time to figure it out?”
Never. The answer was never.
I’d gone from survival mode in foster care to survival mode as a single parent. There’d never been space to be Sammy and discover what that meant.
I chopped the zucchini with vigor, welcoming the burn in my forearm, then realized I’d prepped enough food for an army.
Although, Gavrel did eat more than us. The chicken was marinating in the fridge, and the vegetables would be sauteed while the chicken baked.
I’d planned potatoes to go with it, and they were already washed and waiting to be popped into the oven along with the chicken.
Gavrel checked his phone. “I should go collect Corey.”
“Already?”
“It’s almost three.”
How had that much time passed?