Chapter 15
fifteen
. . .
peony
I’m still thinking about the warmth of Rupert’s arm around me long after we’ve parted ways. I bared my soul to him.
And he… accepted me. He understood me and never made me feel ashamed. Instead, I came away almost proud of myself for getting here after what Andy did to me.
I can’t stop thinking about Rupert even as I head downstairs to make dinner. Kellen appears then to help me, and I interrogate him about where he was this afternoon.
“You had Rupert worried,” I say, frowning. “He texted you and you didn’t answer.”
Kellen rubs the back of his head. “I was out with someone. He, erm, found me through a mutual friend.”
“Oh?” I pause the dough I’m pushing around the bowl. “Tell me more.”
Kellen’s pale skin turns bright red, and I giggle at the instant response.
“I am going to have my car detailed,” is all he says. “Cleaned completely before anyone else is allowed to drive it again.”
I cackle like a witch, and Kellen risks a little smirk.
Soon, Rupert joins us, and he flashes Kellen a look as he sits down at the counter.
"Good to see you’re alive and well, Mr. Castle.”
Kellen ducks his head. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to go MIA.”
Rupert waves a hand at him dismissively. “It’s the weekend. You need to get out more. Besides.” He glances at me, and his mouth turns up at the side. “Peony and I had a lovely walk this afternoon.”
“Did you?” Kellen’s lip quirks in my direction. “I’m sure the leaves were beautiful.”
We both agree as we eat at the counter instead of in the dining room. It feels almost like we’re a strange little family.
The following day, I’m in such a good mood that I get a bee in my bonnet to make cookies. Sometimes the best chocolate chip cookie is a simple one baked just right. I have learned little tips and tricks I can use along the way to make them perfect.
On our walk that afternoon, I ask Rupert if he’d like to bake with me. His mane stands up, and his eyes are bright.
“I haven’t had a good chocolate chip cookie in eons,” he says with wonder and awe. “Americans—it’s one of your specialties, I’d say. Next to the peanut butter and jam.”
“How did you end up here?” I ask as we pass under a beech tree shedding yellowed leaves. “In America, I mean.”
“New York City.” He answers without missing a beat. “If you want to do well in business, you go to New York City.”
“You were in business?”
Rupert’s shoulders hunch under his coat. “Yes. After my father died, I inherited some of his wealth. He’d been a smart investor most of his life, and so I had a decent nest egg with which to start.”
“So you came to the States.”
Rupert nods, chewing his lip. “Got involved in the stock market. Worked on my citizenship. Made some… poor financial decisions.”
I remain quiet, hoping that he’ll continue, but I don’t want to push him.
With a sigh, Rupert says, “We should head back, Peony. And make those cookies.”
“All right.” It’s clear that once again, he’s not quite ready to tell me the whole story. So I let the subject drop. “Let’s turn around here, then.”
On our walk back, I wonder what Rupert is hiding that he’s so reluctant to talk about. But I know what it means to have tender secrets, and so I’ll wait until he’s ready to tell me.
When we make it back to the kitchen, I assemble all the ingredients on the countertop. I’ve been letting the butter soften since this morning, anticipating baking later in the day so it should be the perfect consistency. I put on an apron and pass the other one to Rupert.
He looks down at himself, then at the apron, and then helplessly at me.
“I don’t know if I can wear this,” he says uncertainly.
“Take off the jacket.” I gesture at his fancy outer layer. Obediently, Rupert unbuttons the overcoat and takes it off, leaving a button-up underneath. Then I reach up and fling the neck of the apron over his head, just barely managing to get it over the pointy tops of his horns.
“Now turn around,” I order.
When he shows me his back, I wrap the apron around him and tie it just above his tail. I almost want to stroke that tail, to see what it feels like as his fur gives way to scales, but I resist.
Rupert watches silently, arms tucked behind him as I measure out the flour, sugar, butter, and vanilla. First, I get the butter whipping, mixing in the sugar slowly, and explain each step as I go.
“The texture is different if you melt the butter. That gives you a crunchier cookie, but I like them soft.”
“I do, too,” Rupert says, and when I look up, I find him riveted on my face. “I much prefer them soft.”
I don’t really think he’s talking about cookies, but I continue. I pick up the plastic container full of flour.
“We just need a cup and a half of this—”
My hands are slippery from the butter, and the container slips right out of my slick palms as I gesture with them. It goes careening to the ground, ready to smash and burst open…
But Rupert dives for it, catching it before it hits.
The impact in his hands is still great, though, making the pressurized lid fly right off the top, sending flour catapulting through the air in every direction.
It covers me where I stand with my hands out, and Rupert, now on the floor, is holding a half-full container of flour.
It’s all over his face, caught in his hair, and covering his nice clothes.
“Rupert!” I bend down to help him get back up. “I’m so sorry!”
When he’s on his feet again, Rupert takes in the sight of me and snorts, sounding rather like an animal.
“You’re covered in flour,” he says, smirking as he brushes the tip of his finger over my nose, taking flour away with it.
In return, I reach up and wipe his nose with my finger, too, smearing the flour even worse across his face. “Oops, looks like you got some here, too.”
I hold in a laugh at how ridiculous he looks, just the top of him coated in a fine layer of white dust.
Rupert smirks down at me. “Did you get it all?”
“I think so.”
I grab a towel and wipe off my face, which succeeds in mostly removing it from my cheeks and forehead but leaving a fine dusting in my hair. Rupert has even less luck, given how much of his body is covered in fur, and I giggle as he valiantly tries to clean himself off.
Still both frosted with flour, we go back to our lesson and work over the mixer until the dough is ready. Then I scoop some out for each of us before putting the bowl in the fridge.
“What’s this?” Rupert asks, eyeballing the two spoonfuls of raw cookie dough.
“You’ve never had cookie dough?” I shake my head, appalled. “Well, you’re really not supposed to eat it, with the uncooked flour and eggs and everything, but fuck it.” I scrape off half the dough on my spoon with my teeth and swallow it. “It’s delicious.”
Curious and a little wary, Rupert picks up his spoon. His big tongue shoots out to lick it, and his eyes go big.
“Oh, I get it.” He turns to me, amazement on his face. “That’s better than the actual cookie.”
I throw up my hands. “Right?!”
We sit at the counter and chat amiably while the dough firms in the fridge and the oven heats up.
Then we get to scooping the dough onto cookie sheets, and Rupert insists on measuring each one precisely so they’ll all come out the same size.
I show him how to space them apart, and we put two sheets in the top oven, then two more in the bottom one.
“Who’s going to eat all these?” Rupert asks once we’ve used up the last crumb of dough.
“Me, of course.” I mime shoving my face full of warm, gooey cookies. “All of them. Only for me.”
Rupert chuckles. “I guess I’ll take the scraps, then. And none for Kellen.”
“None for Kellen.”
When the oven timer beeps, it feels like no time at all has gone by. We pull the trays out and let them cool on the stovetop, continuing our conversation about the science of baking while we wait.
Then, it’s time to sample.
“Incredible,” Rupert says, devouring another whole cookie.
“Next time I’ll do lemon white chocolate. That will really blow your mind.”
He bares all his teeth when he grins. “I can’t wait to have my mind blown.”
When he’s finished with his fourth cookie, I notice Rupert has a spot of chocolate on his face, just at the corner of his mouth. I point at it and giggle.
“You got chocolate on yourself.”
Furrowing his brow, Rupert licks his chops in a way that reminds me a great deal of a dog, but he misses the spot completely. Laughing harder, I reach up to his face and wipe off the chocolate with my index finger. Then, on reflex, I bring it to my mouth and lick it.
Rupert’s smile falters, and his mane bristles. I realize what a faux pas I just made.
“Oh, gosh, sorry,” I say, backing away from him and wiping my finger off on a towel. “You just couldn’t reach it, and—”
He lowers his head, taking a matching step toward me. Suddenly, I’m up against the counter, standing in his shadow.
“Was it good?” he asks, voice as soft and smooth as suede. “Did you like the taste?”
Rupert leans against the countertop with one hand, caging me in with his body.
I could move to his right if I wanted and slip out, but I don’t.
I enjoy the way he smells, a little like the pine trees where we were walking and a little like musk.
His yellow gaze is focused on me and only me, his chest shockingly close to mine.
I wonder what it would be like to run my hand through his fur, if it would feel as velvety as it looks.
“Y-yes,” I finally manage to answer. “I love chocolate.”
“Hmm.” Rupert licks his lips again. “I do, too.”
For some reason, we are both breathing harder than before. Neither of us moves, and neither of us speaks as we stare into each other’s eyes. I bite my lip, imagining him lowering his head even more.
What would his mouth feel like if I put mine on it? Would he freak out? Would I be jeopardizing this fragile friendship between us? Not to mention my job—I can’t risk that.
“Peony.” Some of Rupert’s mane tumbles forward as he brings his face even closer to mine.
His nostrils flare as he sniffs me, and his pupils expand to encompass nearly his entire yellow eye.
“Tell me if I am imagining things, and I will not be offended. But…” His eyes dart away from mine and back again. “It seems as if… perhaps… you might…”
I think I can read between the lines and save him a little grief.
“Do you want to kiss me, Rupert?” I ask.
It looks as if his eyes may just bug out of his head.
“Yes,” he breathes. “Very much.”
So I rise onto my toes and press my lips to his.