Chapter 7 Pansy #3
“I forgot to pick up sugar,” Pansy explained, tucking a stray curl bashfully behind one ear. “Since I already threw all the other dry ingredients together and melted the butter, it’d be a shame to let them go to waste.”
“So, you’re going to risk getting lost in the woods. Wow. What a well-thought-out plan you’ve got there,” Ren said, their voice positively dripping with sarcasm.
Pansy flushed again, despite herself, and said, “I know it’s not the best idea—”
“It’s a terrible one.”
“But I need that sugar. So, unless you know of some goblin alternative that you have on hand…”
Ren set down the broom and dustbin with a sigh. “I told you about sugarfern already, didn’t I?”
Pansy thought for a moment. “That’s what you said the vinegar was made from, right?”
They nodded. “You can also use it as a sweetener. Come on. I’ll show you.”
Ren led the way into the kitchen, with Pansy following close behind.
“Here,” they said, handing over a single brownish-green frond. “Sugarfern.”
Pansy turned over the frond in her hands, marveling at the way it scraped lightly against her skin. “It’s like sandpaper!” she remarked.
“That’s the sap. The leaves secrete it, and it eventually hardens into a sort of crystal; hence the rough texture, which becomes more pronounced once the leaves are dried like this.”
Pansy frowned. “So, do I just throw it in like this or…?”
Ren let out a huff that might’ve been a laugh, given the way their eyes twinkled. “Grind it up first. You want it to be a fine powder before you use it. That’s why we dry out the leaves.”
“Got it. Say, do goblins bake? Like cookies and cakes? That sort of thing?”
“Does it matter?” Ren asked, cocking an eyebrow at her.
“Just curious,” Pansy said, shrugging. “Also, I generally try to avoid preparing dishes that I know won’t go over well. Waste of food and effort, that.”
Something in Ren thawed at her words, their shoulders dropping as the stiff wall of their posture dipped into something far more malleable.
“I already told you that you don’t need to cook for me.
But goblin desserts tend to be teas, or ices in the winter, usually sweetened with berries, sugarfern or some sort of nectar.
And rose hip. That’s my favorite,” they added after a beat, their voice softening to the point where it seemed like they were divulging a closely held secret rather than a harmless fact.
Pansy was being trusted with something. And, somehow, that was enough to send her heart skipping a beat. Several beats, in fact. “You know, that does sound good. Maybe I’ll try making it sometime.” She cast a grin over her shoulder, only for Ren to immediately avert their gaze.
“Do whatever you want,” they mumbled, cheeks darkening for the second time that evening.
“I guess it makes sense that goblin cuisine wouldn’t really use milk and eggs,” Pansy said as she continued to grind away at the sugarfern using a mortar and pestle. “They’re not staples for you all in the same way they are for us. Wait—” Pansy’s eyes widened. “You do eat milk and eggs, right?”
“I do. Some of us do – goblins, I mean. Where animals have been cared for well. No meat, though; never that.”
Suddenly, all the stories of goblins stealing hens and cattle, often touted as proof that thievery constituted an inherent part of goblin culture, took on a decidedly different sheen.
Because if the animals had been poorly cared for, was it truly theft or, rather, a rescue?
From a goblin perspective, the answer was plain.
Pansy remembered the way Ren had spoken about valuing life: how it should be nurtured, cared for, respected.
Again, she thought of her grandmother’s cottage, sitting out here in the woods, consigned to become a moldering tomb for old memories, until the goblins had saved that, too.
Pansy let out a breath of relief, shoulders slumping as she leaned over the counter. “Thank goodness you can eat them. These cookies would be a waste otherwise.”
Ren cocked their head to the side, confused. “Why?” they asked, wincing briefly as the kitten, disturbed by the motion, hopped down onto their shoulder, where he settled anew. “You could still just eat them yourself.”
Pansy froze. They were absolutely right, so why had she gotten so stuck on the idea that the cookies needed to be shared with Ren too?
She wanted to blame it on the sugarfern, the only reason the cookies were even on their way to baking instead of relegated to the bottom of a wastebasket.
But the explanation, reasonable though it was, didn’t quite land.
Because Pansy knew, deep down, that this went beyond simple matters of politeness, the elaborate song-and-dance attached to every favor, given or received.
It’s just pride, she told herself, willing the warmth building beneath her skin to recede.
After the way Ren had criticized her cooking the night before at the outset, she wanted nothing more than to make them eat their words again and again; as many times as it took to instill within them the appropriate amount of regret.
So, of course, she’d seize any and all such opportunities. And why shouldn’t she?
Her heart still in her throat, she forced what she hoped would be a remotely convincing smile and said, “It’s no fun cooking for just yourself. Food is meant to be shared!”
Ren made a thoughtful noise. “I suppose that’s true enough…” Still, there was something about the way they said it – or perhaps it was their stare, turned unflinching in the time it had taken Pansy to become the subject of scrutiny – that made Pansy feel utterly transparent.
Thankfully, Ren said nothing further on the subject.
Either they were simply being polite or their acuity was not nearly as devastating as Pansy had feared.
This didn’t stop her from sweating as she finished up her batter, every one of her senses so wrapped up in the sensation of Ren at her back that by the time she popped the cookies into the oven she felt utterly wrung out.
“How long before they’re done?” Ren asked, suddenly far closer than Pansy remembered.
“Oh, uh, about ten minutes or so, depending on how the oven heats,” she replied, blinking dumbly at the handful of paces that now separated them.
Her brain, traitor that it was, couldn’t think of anything beyond this unexpected proximity, how if she just stretched her arm out in front of her, her fingers would surely graze the front of Ren’s shirt, undone at their throat.
What would they feel like underneath, she wondered before she could stop herself, the thought blooming across her mind in a warm haze.
Soft or firm? It was impossible to tell from just a glance, considering all of Ren’s clothing was so damn loose!
Granted, it suited them, but how was Pansy supposed to see anything when— Wait. Why was she even thinking about this?
Heat surged into her face anew, tingling across the bridge of her nose all the way up to the tips of her ears.
In no universe were she and Ren ever going to touch, let alone like that.
It was a mystery that needed no contemplation and certainly no resolution.
This, Pansy told herself with more vehemence than was probably needed, was the closest they were ever going to get and—
Her thoughts stuttered to a sudden, graceless stop as Ren’s fingers grazed the curve of her cheek, still flushed a deep scarlet.
They were touching her! As casually as they might a friend.
But Pansy wasn’t – they weren’t. She wanted to open her mouth, ask Ren what they were doing, but all she managed was a choking sound, pulled from deep in her throat.
And as the world narrowed to that single point on her face, where Ren’s skin touched hers, her awareness never moved beyond that crackle of lightning, building beneath a barely there seam.
“You had some powdered sugarfern on your face,” Ren explained, jerking away as if they’d been burned.
They tucked their hand against their chest – protective or, perhaps, simply mistrustful – and looked off to the side, their head angled such that their hair drew over their expression like an impenetrable curtain.
The only clue that remained was their ears, twitching frantically against the flat of their skull.
“Oh, um, th-thanks,” Pansy somehow managed to squeak out, forcing her voice beyond the bubble of embarrassment that had lodged in her throat.
Still refusing to meet her gaze, Ren made a low sound of acknowledgment before turning on their heel and stalking out of the kitchen. In the half-second it took Pansy to realize what was going on, they’d already cleared the doorway and were halfway to slipping beyond her vision entirely.
“Wait!” she shouted after them, gripping the door jamb with both hands so she could lean beyond it. “What about the cookies? Dinner?”
“I’m not hungry!” Ren called back right before they darted around the next corner.
Pansy’s brow furrowed. How could they not be hungry?
Judging from the amount of work that had been done to the garden, they must have been out there nearly all day!
Well, whatever, she thought to herself with a shrug.
Ren was an adult. They could easily make themself something to eat if they got hungry later.
That didn’t stop Pansy from putting aside a serving of creamy mushroom pasta from her own dinner.
But that was only because making exactly one person’s worth of this dish was downright impossible.
In all her years of cooking, she hadn’t managed it even once, and she was starting to suspect that the feat would forever remain beyond her.
As for the small plate of shortbread cookies, all far greener than she was used to but no less delicious for it – well, Pansy left those out too.
Judging from the empty dishes she found the following morning, neatly arranged in the drying rack, it was safe to say her efforts had not gone unappreciated. Ren had eaten everything.