Page 30

Chapter Seventeen

T hey landed back onto the floor of Primrose Cottage. Grim on his feet, Serena on her backside.

“Ow!” She winced and glared at Grim.

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “What did I do?”

“It would have helped if you had fallen too,” she grumbled.

He chuckled and helped her up. “I think I’m finally getting the hang of getting dropped to and from worlds.”

“That would make one of us.” She sighed. “I’m going to go to sleep for a bit. You can take the bed in the spare room again—wait, I never showed it to you!”

“It’s all right,” he replied. “I managed to find it on my own. I’ll head to sleep in a while.”

She bid him goodnight and made her way upstairs with a pleasant feeling in her chest. It was nice to have someone to say goodnight to again; she hadn’t realized how much she had missed it.

As she changed into her nightgown, she glanced upon her arm and noticed with a jolt that her injury had disappeared, just like Lore had said it would.

She was so exhausted from her adventure that she fell asleep the instant her head touched the pillow, no room in her head for any worrying or rumination.

Her eyes opened bright and early the next day, and the first thing she heard was her stomach grumbling. She realized she hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday, and decided to head downstairs to cook something up.

She slipped into one of her favorite day dresses, a simple rosy muslin number that had a daring neckline and long fitted sleeves.

Tiny sleeping rabbits were embroidered on it (her own addition, of course).

She also fastened the heart-shaped earrings she’d fashioned from braided grass and tiny daisies and then went downstairs.

She found Grim already awake with one of the faery books in hand. He looked up as she entered, and his eyes widened a fraction as he took her in. Something flashed across his face, too quick for her to name, and then he offered her a small smile.

“You look nice,” he said quietly .

Her cheeks warmed, and she found it difficult to hold his intense gaze. Something had shifted between them after the last tale, but neither of them had dared to take a step forward and examine what it was.

“Thank you,” she replied, tucking a pink lock of hair behind her ear in a self-conscious manner. “I was thinking of making us some food. Would you like anything specific?”

“Anything is fine, thank you.”

In the kitchen, Serena looked around, her hands on her hips.

Her stomach rumbled again, as if to protest against her demurring.

Peeking into the cabinets, she took out some of her staple ingredients like mushrooms, thyme, rosemary.

With a small smile, she recalled how Aunt Maeve had once complained about her love for mushrooms, claiming that if she could, Serena would be buried with the blasted things.

“All right then,” she announced to no one in particular, “mushroom pasties it is!”

Half an hour later, the delicious aroma of baked goods wafted from the kitchen as Serena surveyed the rolls with a critical eye.

The mushrooms were baked to perfection, glistening with juice, and the crust of the pastries was golden and buttery, just the way she liked it.

She draped the table with a cheerful looking table mat and set the table for the two of them, using her best cutlery.

Fresh daisies were placed in the middle of the table into the clay vase that she had made a year ago when she had developed a short lived passion for pottery.

Calling out to Grim, she waited, annoyed that she was nervous at what he would think of the food. The man in question walked into the kitchen then, his eyes hungrily eyeing the spread on the table. “This looks amazing.”

“I hope it tastes good as well though,” she replied wryly, taking a seat.

It was then that he noticed the set table. His eyebrows rose as he surveyed her handiwork and then whistled appreciatively.

“Is there an occasion for this?” he questioned as he sat down.

Maybe she’d gone overboard, she thought with a rush of embarrassment. The cooking, the fancy table setting—she might as well have thrown herself at him, saying take me, I’m yours!

“No,” she blurted out. “This is how I usually eat when I’m alone.”

Okay, there was no way he believed that.

“Oh, I see,” he responded with a nod, as if she’d said something completely normal.

Right, she’d forgotten how he took everything very literally and very much at face value. Sometimes, she was incredibly grateful for how dense this man was.

The two of them made quick work of the food. Once they were done, he heaved out a sigh and leaned back in his chair.

“I don’t remember the last time I had a meal like this,” he said, his eyes closed.

She frowned. “We’ve eaten together multiple times.”

“No, I meant like making a proper occasion on it,” he said. “The pretty table, the fancy pasties. It’s nice.”

Her vision blurred oddly, and she swallowed around the lump in her throat. Grim had a way of saying things in the simplest of manners that were simultaneously the sweetest compliments and the saddest confessions. She didn’t want to make him uncomfortable however, so she just smiled.

“I’d kill for some tea right now.”

Beseeching green eyes met his dark ones, and he got up, grumbling about tea addicts. Giggling, she put her chin on her hands, and was about to tease him some more when she came to an alarming realization .

“Nevermind the tea!” she exclaimed, as she got up and rushed to her herb cabinet. “I just remembered I haven’t seen my patients for a few days. I’ll just pop into the village and be back in a few hours.”

Grim looked behind him to see her frantically packing herbs and tonics into her usual bag, spilling a hundred things in the process.

He leaned into the counter, legs crossed, looking at her with great amusement.

“You’re a proper little hurricane, aren’t you?” he remarked.

She pointed a warning finger at him midway through her rushed exit. “I will get you back for that when I return.”

“Consider me terrified,” he called after her with a chuckle.

As she closed the cottage door behind her, she felt herself smile so widely her cheeks ached.

It was hard to remember how terrifying the nights they spent were when this was how the two of them were during the day.

There was something so natural and fluid about their back and forth, the repartee that flowed like water.

He seemed to actually enjoy their little interactions, the way she pestered him, and she loved the moments he would tease her back.

Their friendship had come to mean the world to her, in a short time.

And sometimes she would catch the look in his eyes—a look that was very much not one you gave friends.

Recalling the way he had glanced at her this morning, she felt heat pool low in her stomach, and a pleasant shiver ran through her body.

Shaking her head to dispel the thoughts she was quite sure were incredibly inappropriate, she tried to focus on the work she had to do for now.

Once she was in Glenn, she decided to do a few house calls to see if her usual patients needed anything.

Farmer Mac had a bad back, and had been taking a tonic of willow bark and ginger.

He had been incredibly distrusting at first of both her and her medicines, but she had promised to take full responsibility if it did not work, and he had grudgingly agreed.

She supposed she should take it as a good sign that he had not come at her raging.

Yet. The call to his house went fairly smoothly; it seemed as though his back had improved immensely, and he even offered her a small smile, which from the crotchety old man, was the equivalent of hugging her tightly.

Next, she went to Mrs. Claymore, who by some miracle had not found a new imaginary illness she was suffering from, but she did have a lot to say about a ‘handsome scholar who had come barging into town asking for your aunt, and did not even have the decency to accept my invitation to dinner’.

She hid a little smile at that, for she knew Mrs. Claymore likely wanted a match for her youngest daughter, and pickings in Glenn were slim.

Assuring the matron that she agreed with her opinion, she exited her house making a mental note to needle Grim about this exchange.

She made two more rounds and was planning on heading home when she spotted Daisy walking alone across the square.

Remembering their last exchange, she resolved to stay out of the girl’s way, and picked up her pace toward the village exit.

She had barely made it ten paces when she heard Daisy cry out.

She whirled around to see Reverend Erikkson standing in front of her with a hand clamped around her shoulder.

It would have been common sense and natural self-preservation to keep her head low and keep walking.

Unfortunately, one did not get cursed by an evil immortal if they possessed either of those two things, and so she found herself walking toward them.

As she got closer, she could hear the reverend urgently saying something regarding Daisy’s mother and her soul. Daisy was looking down, her face ashen, clearly not wanting to be there .

“Reverend,” said Serena stepping in between them, smoothly extricating the poor girl from his grip, “Daisy looks a little tired, and I think it’s best if she heads home.”

Upon spotting her, the reverend’s face transformed into a cold smile. “Good day, Miss Rose,” he said, “I have not seen you around in a while.”

“Unfortunate.”

“I was just telling Miss Summers here that perhaps we should have a prayer gathering for her mother. She wasn’t a believer you see, so her soul needs to be cleansed by us for her to be at peace.”

Serena felt a wave of anger as she spotted tears in Daisy’s eyes.