14. Soren

Chapter fourteen

Soren

T here are no words. Seeing Mariana come down those steps, smiling, engaging with my nieces and nephew like it's her calling. I'm stunned.

The little badgers destroyed the kitchen while helping me make breakfast, but she was there wiping at their faces, catching things before they fell off the counters, and working in tandem with me. It felt strange and comfortable all at once.

I was nervous about leaving her with the children initially. I can only avoid my work for so long while she stays with me. So I let her know I made enough food for lunch and that I should be back before sundown, and my brother Ingus will be by to pick the triplets up before that.

All day, my mind drifts to her. Was she actually being playful with me this morning?

My thoughts swirl. Churning like a river swollen with rain.

I throw myself into work, banishing the image of her in those thin night clothes or wiping flour from her hands and face. That lovely face, the face I saw smile for the first time today.

She stirred last night in bed. She's been so quiet in that room until last night. Tossing and turning for hours. What was she thinking about? What was she doing? The possibilities send rivulets of heat through my body. Was she bothered by our conversation at dinner? Or heated?

I don't know what I would do If I saw desire in those dark eyes. Her being pissed off is enough. Enough for her to show up in my dreams. But if she looked at me with want, I might combust.

My body responds, winding tight.

Breathe, Soren, just breathe through it. I coach myself through the need throbbing between my legs. You've never obsessed over a female like this before. Get your shit together. I rest my face against the cool condensation building on the shop window. Anything to calm my heated skin.

What in the spirits will I do tonight?

Tonight, she's downstairs. I don't have to draw her down with the smells of cooking food. She's here .

The triplets must have done a number on the place because when I walk in, she is still righting overturned chairs.

She looks shocked to see me. Maybe they did run her a little ragged.

I move to the stove, where I prepped a stew to slow-cook all day.

"Are you always making some kind of food?" she asks as I pull the cast-iron pot out of the oven and set it on the counter.

"Why? Did you want to cook for me?" I tease back.

She scoffs, throwing another strewn pillow in its correct location.

"Are you hungry?" I ask. "It's ready now, if you want some."

Her eyes light in a way that would be undetectable to anyone else. "Sure, I guess I could eat," she says, and we find our spots.

Our spots…

That thought felt so right it hurt.

Silence fills the cottage. Nothing but the crackle of the fire and the metallic clink of our utensils.

I clear my throat. "You did better with the triplets than I expected." I don't like how that sounded. I don't like that I implied expectations.

Her mouth flattens into a fine line. "Good to know I exceed your high expectations of me."

"Shit, that's not what I meant."

"How did you mean it, then?"

"I just didn't know you were good with young ones. Not everyone is." I pick at my stew, eyes cast down, hoping, pleading that she finds me sincere.

"Oh, you think I'm a monster that doesn't like children?"

"No, not at all. Fuck. You just surprised me. That's all. Not that you like young ones. It was more about how good you were with them. I come from a family of twenty-one, and some of us aren't even that good with our own siblings. "

Her jaw drops. I never mentioned the size of my family before. Given our long life spans, it's not uncommon for ogres to have massive families.

"Twenty-one?" she says, mouth still agape. "I thought the three others I've already met were a lot. There are seventeen more? How in the hell did you all live in one house?"

She asked me a question. Not mocking or out of anger. She genuinely asked me a question about my life. I'd better not fuck this up.

"My parents have a large house, but ogres can have young into their sixtieth year. So if they want a large family, they space out the children so the older ones are out of the house." The look of shock that spreads on her face is almost comical.

"Sixty years of kids," she says to no one in particular. "That's wild." Again, she says the phrase more to herself than to me.

A wicked part of me wants to remind her she could have known that much earlier. But I don't. Instead, I choose to revel in the exchange and how her evergreen eyes dance with curiosity.

"Then how old are you?" she asks.

"I'm forty-nine."

She spits the peppermint tea she had been sipping all over the table and the food. "You're middle-aged?" Shock, utter shock racks her voice, but the statement confuses me.

"Well, no," I respond, laughing and wiping my face and shirt free of the tea she expelled. "If I were truly in the middle of my life span, I would need to be one-hundred and fifty."

She shakes her head, as if the notion is foreign to her. I don't know how long humans are supposed to live. The ones that ended up here aged at the same pace we do. Curious.

"How long do humans live in your world?" I ask, genuinely curious.

"Ha," she scoffs. "If you're lucky and very healthy, one hundred years. And sometimes, it doesn't seem so lucky."

Her dark features dance in the lamp light. There hasn't been a day in this creature's presence where I haven't marveled at her beauty, strength, ferocity. The golden cast to her skin reminds me further of how badly I want to touch it. See if her skin is as soft as it looks. See if I could get her eyes to dance with hunger instead of combativeness.

Even now, I itch to reach over and grab her hand, to dance my fingers over the lines in her palm.

"Hey." She snaps her fingers in front of my face, jolting me out of my trance. "Are you okay? You zoned out pretty hard. You seem to do that a lot." Since having met her, it seems I do.

"Oh, I'm fine." I right myself and straighten. "Just thinking about all of my family." A lie, but believable.

"Shit, that could take you years," she jokes.

We both laugh, genuine laughter that causes beads of tears to build up in the corners of my eyes. It's a silly, fleeting connection I want to last forever.

"Ho, anyone home?" Aaron's voice comes in from the mudroom door. What is he doing here? Irritation burns down my back, causing my fists to ball.

"Aaron, is it a little late for a visit?"

"Oh, come now, Sweets; I know there is always extra food." He slaps me on the back, either ignoring the obvious irritation on my face, or he's simply oblivious tonight. "Where's the ale? I could use a drink," he says before his head disappears into the ice chest.

Oh, no. Irie's kicked him out again. Aaron can be overbearing, so she has banished him from their home several times throughout her pregnancy. My house is the closest; he always ends up here.

He's going to get drunk, eat all my food, and suck up all the air in the room. I was making progress with Mari. I rub both hands over my face, frustrated and irritated.

Mari is watching both of us, an excited expression on her face. I imagine she's watching us the way she would children. Adults in all the ways that matter, but when together, revert to squabbling siblings.

"Here it is," Aaron says, yanking a small barrel of ale out of the ice chest. "Mariana, is it? Come over and have a drink with me. I'll tell you all about how awkward Soren was as a child."

I resign myself to the moment, pulling up a chair to my small table with a scrape. This is going to be the longest night of my life.