Chapter Ten – Rachel
The kitchen was back in order now, wiped down and put straight again, when the timer buzzed.
Lucy jumped. “The cake.”
“Yes,” Rachel said, turning at once. “The cake.”
As the four of them gathered around the oven, Rachel reached for the oven gloves, then looked at Elliott.
“You should do the honors,” she said.
He looked faintly surprised, then took the gloves from her. “All right.”
“I can’t wait to see it,” Aria said, clasping her hands together.
“I can’t wait to taste it,” Lucy said.
He crouched in front of the oven and looked at the girls. “Before we take it out, we have to make sure it’s actually ready.”
“How?” Lucy asked.
Elliott opened the oven door, and warm air rolled out into the kitchen, rich with butter and orange and that clean, sharp note of rosemary. The cake had risen beautifully, its top a deep, even gold beneath the rosemary Lucy had scattered over it.
“It looks done,” Aria said.
“It does,” Elliott agreed. “But looking done and being done aren’t always the same thing.”
He picked up a skewer from the side, slid it carefully into the middle of the cake, then drew it back out and held it up for them to see.
“See? Clean. That means it’s ready.”
Lucy looked impressed. Aria leaned in a fraction, taking that in.
Then Elliott lifted the tin out and set it carefully on the stovetop.
For a second, the girls simply stared at it.
“It worked,” Lucy said at last, turning to him with her whole face lit up.
“It did,” Elliott said, smiling back.
“And now,” Rachel said, “it cools while we have dinner.”
Lucy’s expression collapsed from triumph into open betrayal in under a second. “But the cake…”
“Will still be there in twenty minutes.”
Lucy let out a great, tragic sigh. “It does look special.”
“It should have a candle,” Aria said.
Rachel turned to look at her. “It doesn’t need a candle.”
“Why not?”
“Because it isn’t anyone’s birthday.”
“So?” Lucy moaned.
“Candles don’t have to be only for birthdays,” Elliott said.
She glanced at him over the cake. “You too?”
Lucy, sensing an ally, brightened. “See?”
Rachel rested one hand on the edge of the counter and let the moment drag out, mostly on principle.
“Candle,” she said eventually, “if you both eat your dinner first.”
Lucy gasped. “Really?”
“Really. But only if I don’t have to argue with either of you about the tart.”
“I never argue about tart,” Lucy said with great dignity.
“You did when it had goat cheese on it,” Aria reminded her sister.
Rachel shook her head and removed the foil trays she’d brought from the restaurant.
Thankfully, the food was still warm and ready to eat.
Roasted vegetable tart. New potatoes in a second tray.
And a bowl full of salad. Matt was always generous in giving her any leftovers when she’d worked a long shift.
She set everything out on the counter, and as she did, Elliott stepped closer.
“What can I do?” he asked.
Rachel lifted the tart out of its foil. “Plates, if you would. The top cupboard next to the sink. And the cutlery’s in the drawer next to the fridge.”
“Of course.” He headed for the cupboard first, while the girls washed their hands and then sat at the table.
“Wine?” she asked, taking down two glasses. “Tessa gave it to me. It’s from your aunt and uncle’s vineyard.”
“Yes, please.” He set the plates down on the table. “No matter where I travel, I have never tasted wine as good as Thornberg wine.”
“Do they pay you to say that?” Rachel asked as she poured the wine.
“No,” he replied, fetching the cutlery. “But they should.”
Rachel brought the tart over to the table and couldn’t quite help smiling when Lucy leaned straight in to smell it.
“It smells good.”
“See? Proper food can smell good too.” She cut into it and placed a slice on each plate, although the girls’ portions were much smaller than the one she gave to Elliott.
“I still liked the cake smell better,” Lucy added.
“I know you did.”
“The cake still smells nice,” Aria said, reaching for her water.
“It does. And it’ll still smell nice after you’ve eaten your potatoes,” Rachel said as she placed the potatoes and the salad on the table.
“Wine.” Elliott set the two glasses down.
The table was small for four, smaller once the serving dishes and the glasses were on it, but somehow they all fitted, even though Elliott looked too big for the chairs.
“At lunch today,” Lucy said, already working through her second potato, “Poppy said dragons aren’t real.”
Aria didn’t look up from her plate. “That’s because they aren’t.”
Lucy turned at once to Elliott. “Are they?”
Elliott nearly choked on his wine. “I think that probably depends on who you ask.”
Lucy looked delighted. “See?”
“That isn’t proof,” Aria said.
“Elliott has been to more places than we have; he’s seen more things,” Lucy said. “Like in China. Have you been to China?”
Elliott cleared his throat and said, “I have, but I’ve never seen a dragon there.”
Rachel took a sip of her wine and hid her mouth behind the glass. “Okay, let’s focus on eating so we can get to the cake.”
For a few minutes, the girls fell quiet and ate properly while Elliott and Rachel made small talk about the restaurant and his family. When the plates were finally empty, Lucy looked at the cake with undisguised longing. Rachel stood up before she could ask.
“All right. Cake.”
Lucy lit up.
Rachel moved the cake onto a plate and reached for the drawer where the candles lived. She only ever used them for birthdays, but tonight, because she had said she would and because it did feel like a special occasion, she took one out and set it neatly in the middle of the sponge.
“You’re doing it,” Lucy whispered.
“I said I would.”
She struck a match. The small flame flickered, and the room went briefly still around it.
It was only a candle. Only a tiny thing.
But then Elliott flipped the light off, and it became something magical.
Lucy looked enchanted. Aria leaned in, a smile on her face. Her gaze moved from the cake to the girls and then, finally, to Elliott, who was standing by the table with one hand resting on the back of his chair.
“Happy Wednesday,” he said softly.
She laughed, properly this time. “This may be the worst celebration I’ve ever hosted.”
“I think it’s lovely,” Lucy said at once.
“It is so pretty,” Aria added.
“All right,” Rachel whispered. “Both of you make a wish.”
Lucy squeezed her eyes shut, but Aria simply stared at the candle. Then, on the count of three, the sisters blew out together.
“We did it,” Lucy said.
“Now can we have some?” Aria asked.
Elliott flipped the lights back on and fetched small plates while Rachel cut the cake.
Soon they were all sitting down again, ready to taste the cake.
Lucy had barely taken a bite before she was scanning the rest of them. “Well?”
“Give us a chance to taste it,” Rachel said as she took a bite.
Elliott took a bite and chewed.
Lucy leaned in. “Well?”
“It’s excellent.”
Lucy sank back happily into her chair. “Good.”
Aria was slower. She tasted hers, then waited, then tasted again. “It doesn’t taste like potatoes,” she said eventually.
“No,” Elliott agreed gravely. “It doesn’t.”
Rachel had to laugh.
Her own slice was, she had to admit, lovely. Tangy from the orange, soft through the middle, and just enough rosemary to make it unusual rather than overpowering. Homemade in the best sense. Just good.
Lucy saw her face and sat up straighter. “You like it.”
“I do. It’s lovely.” Rachel took another bite.
“Can we make it again?” Lucy asked.
Aria laid her fork down. “If we do make it again, I’d put less rosemary on the top.”
“That was decoration,” Lucy reminded her.
“That was too much decoration,” Aria retorted.
“It still worked,” Elliott said, and Lucy looked so pleased with herself that Rachel had to hide her face in her glass again.
By then, the girls were fading fast. Lucy’s words were beginning to blur into yawns.
She stood up and began to gather the plates.
“Right. Upstairs.”
Lucy looked straight at Elliott. “Will you still be here when we come back down?”
“No, sweetheart, Elliott has to go home and go to bed, too,” Rachel said before he had to answer. “Bed.”
Lucy’s face fell.
Rachel softened her voice. “Elliott’s done enough for one evening. Come on.”
Lucy slid down off her chair with a heartfelt sigh. Aria, without being asked, carried both their plates to the sink.
Elliott stood too. “Let me clear the rest.”
“You don’t have to,” Rachel said.
“I know. But I can.” He nodded toward the stairs. “You go put them to bed. I’ll clean up here.”
She gave a grateful nod. “All right. Thank you.”
Upstairs, bedtime went the way it usually did. A glass of water each. Toothbrushes. Lucy talking even as sleep caught up with her. Aria climbing into bed with her book and managing one page before her eyes began to droop.
Lucy, half-asleep already, caught at her hand as she said goodnight. “The candle was nice.”
“Sleep now.” Rachel smoothed the hair back from her face.
“It was,” Lucy murmured again.
“I know.” Rachel smiled. “I love you.”
“Love you too,” Lucy murmured.
Aria was almost asleep when Rachel kissed her goodnight and whispered, “I love you.”
Then Rachel turned out the light and went back downstairs.
The kitchen had been tidied. Plates put away. Crumbs were brushed off the table. The rest of the cake was covered neatly with a tea towel. Her wineglass was waiting for her on the side where she’d left it.
Elliott was at the sink, drying his hands.
He looked up as she came in. “They settled?”
“Yes. They could hardly keep their eyes open.”
He smiled a little, and for a moment neither of them said anything.
“Thank you,” she said at last.
Something in his expression changed, only very slightly, as though he had heard more in those two words than the words themselves.
“You’re welcome.”
Rachel ought, sensibly, to have said something ordinary then. Offered him the last of the wine. Asked whether he wanted to take a slice of cake home with him. Something to keep the moment from becoming whatever it was in the process of becoming.
Instead, she stood there with her fingers around the stem of her glass and said nothing.
Because she didn’t know what to say. Only that the evening was not yet over.