Chapter 7
"What am I supposed to do with them?" Nate asks as he looks down at the bowl full of meat scraps for Ember. There's some offal in the mix, as well as a couple of bits of gristly meat that I know she'll love tearing into with her sharp teeth.
"Just put the bowl down in front of her, she'll do the rest."
He nods and heads over to the oven, a little cautious in his movements. He sets the bowl down in front of Ember. "Is this what you want?" he asks.
She lifts her head, sniffing the air and trying to decide if she trusts the new bearer of food. She looks over to me, seeming to be seeking reassurance.
"It's safe," I promise her.
That seems to be all she needs in order to decide that the food Nate has brought her is trustworthy, and a stream of flames burst from her mouth, charring the meat and filling the kitchen with a savoury smell.
Ember doesn't waste any time gobbling up the meat.
"Hopefully, that will help me get into your dragon's good graces," Nate says.
"If you feed her a few more times, it's bound to," I promise.
"Good to know." He washes his hands. "And now, to the second most important task."
I frown. "Which is?"
"Managing your impatience," he teases. "For someone who loves instructions and order, you do like to complain about them sometimes."
"No doubt that's something you haven't missed while you've been away," I murmur.
"I've missed everything about you, Evie." The way he says it makes it clear that he means it, and a small blush rises to my cheeks.
"Well, you might be glad to learn that I've learned a little bit of patience. Croissants have just been testing that."
"There's plenty of time to work on that," he promises. "Croissants are a waiting game."
I sigh. "I know, I know."
"But don't worry, I have a trick that should satisfy even the most impatient of princesses."
"Oh?"
"Would you pass me the scraps?" he asks, gesturing to where he left them.
I hand them over, and he rolls them out until they're in one piece. He adds some butter on top of the dough and folds it over. He rolls it out again, then repeats the motion a few times.
"Are you making a cheat laminated dough?" I ask.
"Pretty much," he says, stopping when he seems to be satisfied with the butter in it. "Normally, I'd do this step after I've trimmed the dough before baking the croissants themselves, so it would already have butter in it, but this works just fine."
"I'm intrigued," I admit.
He laughs. "Well, you can do the next bit, if you want?"
I nod.
"All right, grab the sugar for me. We need to use about half as much sugar as we've got pastry."
"That's a lot of sugar."
"It is," he agrees. "But luckily, I think it can be spared considering that this is your kitchen."
"It's not my kitchen."
He snorts. "Maybe it's not officially your kitchen, but the only reason I'm allowed to use it during this visit is because the Falhaven staff know that you won't be upset about me being here. None of the others from Wafeland have been allowed access."
"I didn't know."
"In fairness, we've been here for less than a day."
Guilt worms its way through me. "And here I am making you bake."
"You're not making me do anything, Evie," he promises. "I have been looking forward to tonight since the moment I knew I could come to Falhaven."
My heart flutters in response. "Me too. Well, since I got your letter."
"I would bake with you every night I'm here if I could."
"Why can't you?" I whisper.
He looks at me with an intensity that would make me uncomfortable with anyone else. But this is Nate. Everything about him is comforting to me. "There's no reason I can't if it's what you want."
I swallow hard. "I'd like that."
"Good. Then we should finish this so that you can have a new recipe for your book," he says. "Spread the sugar like you would flour," he says.
"All right..." It's an unusual instruction, but I follow it.
"Now press the dough down into it, then do the other side. You're trying to get as much sugar into it as possible," he says. "Then use the rolling pin to roll it out more over the sugar."
I nod, doing what he suggests and getting more curious about what he's planning on having us make.
The sugar is grainier than doing this over flour, and I don't love the way it feels against my skin, but I push through it.
"What's next?" I ask when most of the sugar has been incorporated into the dough.
"Fold the two sides in towards each other. About a quarter of the way in. Then again."
"Got it." I carefully follow his instructions. I wish I had them written down, but it's easy enough to follow Nate's words.
"Then over again so that it's folded in on itself," he says. "Then press down a little."
"Where did you learn to do this?" I ask as I do what he says.
"One of the chefs I was studying with in Gaullesse taught me it," he says. "She grew up there, so knew a lot of tricks like this."
"That must have been helpful."
"I'm sure she thought I had some useful tips to share too," he says. "I should have warned you that there is a tiny wait for these too."
"I know they need to bake, Nate."
"Yes, but they need to rest for five minutes first." He slices the dough into rounds, placing them on a baking sheet.
"I suppose I can manage five minutes."
"I'm glad to hear it." He finishes up and takes the tray out to the ice house, returning with his block of croissant dough. He rolls it out and then folds it in on itself. I've done this part myself, but I still find myself captivated by his every move.
We don't really say anything while he does the work that will result in laminated dough, but it's comfortable.
"I'll be back in a moment," he says as he wraps his croissant dough back up. "Will you check the oven's on?"
I nod and head over to the gas oven, assuming that's the one he means, and making sure it's warm.
I take a moment to pause by Ember, who is still awake, but seems a lot more relaxed after she's eaten.
I reach up and scratch her behind the horns, which makes her push her head against my hand in response.
She's a good dragon. And if it were anyone other than Nate, I'd be thankful for the protectiveness she showed to me earlier.
Nate returns to the kitchen without his croissant dough and carrying the tray of scraps that we turned into something. He slides it into the oven and flips a timer, which I'm relieved to realise is only the ten-minute hourglass.
"You still haven't told me what we've made," I say.
"They're palmiers," he responds. "Kind of. They're scrap palmiers. There's a proper palmier recipe, but you might be disappointed by the waiting time on those ones."
I laugh. "I'm not that bad. It's just that when I don't have anything to do but wait, I get a little impatient."
The room soon fills with the sweet smell of baking pastry, and my mouth starts to water in response.
"They're still good though," he promises.
"I'm sure I can find out in a few minutes."
He grins at me and starts clearing up the workbench.
It's easy to see how used to the process he's become in the past five years just from the way he's moving.
It's not that he wasn't good at all of this before, he was, but I can tell it's different now.
He left as an apprentice cook, and he's come back as a pastry chef.
The sand runs out in the timer and Nate heads back over to the oven, carefully removing the tray and bringing it over to me. The palmiers have turned golden brown in colour and I can see the layers of dough where the lamination has occurred, even if the butter was only added last minute.
I reach out to pick up one of the palmiers and blow on it to cool it down.
"You shouldn't eat them yet," Nate says. "They need to cool down first."
"Where's the fun in that?" It's hot, but it isn't too bad. I pull it apart, and I pop half of it in my mouth, letting the sweetness from the sugar and the richness of the butter explode on my tongue. Without thinking, I hold out the other half of the palmier to Nate's lips.
He pauses for a moment, seeming a little taken aback by the offer. I grimace, remembering that the time apart has changed things between us. I let myself believe it hadn't for a little while.
"I'm sorry," I murmur, turning away.
"Evie..."
I shake my head, dipping my head before he can see the tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. "It's fine."
He sighs. "Can we talk about this?"
"I don't know what there is to talk about." A horrible feeling settles within me. I don't want to have this conversation, but I also don't know how I can avoid it.
He takes a deep breath. "I don't want things to change between us."
"They already have." I bite my bottom lip and think about what he's suggesting. "You were gone for more than five years."
"I know."
"You're still going to be gone." My voice cracks as I say the words. "You'll be going back to Wafeland in barely over a week."
"I know," he whispers.
"I don't want you to." The words I should have said five years ago come out. "I don't want you to leave again, Nate."
"I don't want to leave," he says. "I didn't want to leave then either. Do you think I wanted to stay away for this long?" The pain in his voice is impossible to ignore.
"I know it's not your fault." But that doesn't make it hurt less. I look up, wishing I hadn't, the moment I see the pain in his normally warm brown eyes. "I wanted to ask you to stay," I whisper.
"I wanted you to ask," he says.
I sniff a little. "I know that I shouldn't have asked, but it's easy to regret it."
"I know." He steps closer, hesitating for a moment.
Without thinking too much about it, I close the gap between us and wrap my arms around his waist. His hand rests on my back as he pulls me closer. He smells of freshly baked bread, soothing and familiar.
There's no stopping the tears now, and they start rolling down my cheeks. I wouldn't want anyone else to see me like this, but this is Nate. He's safe.
"It's all right, Evie," he murmurs, resting his chin on my head as I cry. It's so easy for us to embrace like this, even if it's a new thing. We've always had a good sense of what it means to share the same physical space, but we've never been particularly physically affectionate.
Then again, we've never spent five years apart either.
The tears dry up, and I pull back, wiping my cheeks.
Nate looks at me with concern on his face. "Are you all right?"
"Not really," I respond. "I just..."
"Just?" he prompts when I don't say anything.
I take a deep breath, thinking about the best way to say this. "I've missed you for five years, and now you're here, I guess I'm realising exactly how much that is."
"I know the feeling." He rubs a hand down my back, the touch far more comforting than I'd ever expect it to be. "I'm not going to be gone forever," he promises.
"You don't know that," I whisper.
"I do," he promises. "But don't worry about it too much. We should make the most of the week we've got, and you should leave me to figure out how I'm going to come back to Falhaven full-time."
I nod, looking up at him and seeing the truth written all over his face. He means it. Which is what I want. I've lost him once, I don't ever want to lose him again.