13. Rian

13

RIAN

T he third weekend of the family cookoff came faster than I expected, between dealing with Jessa and staying up late writing letters to Natalie. The scent of simmering sauces and baking bread wafts through the crisp autumn air as Jessa and I navigate through the booths under the tent, carrying our premade platter of breakfast pastries for our entry from home. Laughter and chatter echo all around, punctuated by the occasional sizzle or clang from the cooking stations.

Despite the festive atmosphere, my stomach twists into knots. I’ve been so out of touch with Jessa lately, and I can’t imagine how well today will go. Last weekend wasn’t an entire disaster, in that we didn’t screw anything up, but she barely talked to me throughout it.

“Rian! I can’t wait to put this year’s trophy on the mantle.” Gideon, a troll father, calls out from his station with a grin. He claimed victory from us last year and hasn’t let me forget it since.

I force a smile. “Keep dreaming, Gideon. This year, that trophy is mine!”

We exchange a few more playful jabs before Jessa and I duck into our own station. She immediately sits hunched over on a stool, barely glancing over at me as I set down our platter of pastries. It’s a towering, multi-level display of decadent cheese danishes, bear claws, and buttery, flakey croissants of several flavors—chocolate, almond, plain.

Unfortunately, I once again made it entirely by myself. The judges won’t know, since it came from home, but it still feels deceptive.

“Hey sweetie, ready to get started?” I ask Jessa. “Today’s challenge is to create a type of roll. I was thinking we could go sweet with it and use that classic cinnamon roll recipe you found recently.”

“Whatever,” Jessa mumbles, her hands fiddling with a napkin instead of the phone she had to leave at home.

My heart sinks at her lack of enthusiasm. I thought by this week she’d be back in the game.

I busy myself with prepping ingredients, trying to push down the hurt. “Could you measure out the flour for me?”

Jessa complies, but her movements are mechanical, disengaged. When the first batch of rolls comes out of the oven, I hold one out to her expectantly.

“What do you think? I added a bit of cardamom this time.”

She takes a small bite and shrugs. “It’s okay. Myrtle’s cinnamon blend would make it better though.”

Her words sting. Mostly because I know she’s right.

Myrtle’s spices elevated my baking to a whole new level. Without them, everything tastes lackluster in comparison. Can I ever make something as good on my own?

“I know, honey. I miss her blends too. But we’ll figure something out, okay?”

Jessa just nods, turning away from me and zoning out watching the other competitors. I turn back to my work, trying to shake off the weight of inadequacy settling on my shoulders.

As I knead the next batch of dough, my mind drifts to the notebook tucked away in my apron pocket, and the woman on the other end of its pages. Natalie’s vulnerability last night caught me off guard. I ache to comfort her somehow, to make her pain disappear.

How can I, though, when I’m still just an anonymous voice? When I know that if I was unmasked, she would probably hate me forever? The guilt gnaws at my insides.

“Dad? You’re kneading that dough to death,” Jessa remarks dryly.

I glance down and realize she’s right. I’ve overworked it into a tough, unyielding mass. With a sigh, I toss it in the trash and start over. At least Jessa was paying some attention. That’s a small win, right?

As I measure out a fresh batch of ingredients, a commotion erupts from the stand next to ours. I glance over to see Gideon covered in a thick, gloopy substance that looks suspiciously like batter.

“Looks like someone forgot to put the lid on the blender,” I quip, unable to resist a bit of good-natured teasing.

Gideon shoots me a playful glare, shaking globs of batter from his fur. “Laugh it up, Rian. We’ll see who has the last laugh when I take home the trophy again this year.”

I chuckle, the tension in my shoulders easing slightly. There’s something comforting about the familiar rhythm of our banter, a reminder that despite my current struggles, some things never change.

The day wears on and I find myself increasingly distracted, my mind torn over my deception with Natalie. I’m making careless mistakes, Jessa taking the opportunity to call me out each time, even burning a batch of the rolls, which I haven’t done in years.

By the time the judges make their rounds, I’m a frazzled mess.

I present our cinnamon rolls with a forced smile, but I can see the disappointment in their eyes. My creations are adequate, but they lack the magic and creativity that once set me apart.

As the scores are tallied, I’m unsurprised to find our team in the middle of the pack. It’s a far cry from the victories of previous years, but I can’t bring myself to care.

All I want is to escape the suffocating weight of my worries.

“Dad?” Jessa’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. “Can we go home now?” There’s a look on her face I can’t quite read. It’s not the same boredom she has shown or the anger I’ve grown accustomed to seeing. I can only hope it isn’t shame.

I nod, forcing a smile. “Sure, honey. Let’s get you packed up for your sleepover with Allegra.” Jessa smiles for the first time today.

Making our way back home, I can’t help feeling that I’m failing on all fronts—as a father, as a chef, as a friend.

The weight of it all threatens to crush me.

Hours later, I find myself pushing open the door to Orc’s Anvil, desperate for a distraction from my own spiraling thoughts. Thankfully, tonight is Trivia Night—a ritual and routine that I never miss. The warm, familiar atmosphere of the taproom wraps around me like a comforting blanket, and I feel some of the stress drain from my body.

I spot Finnian at the bar and raise a hand in greeting, grateful for the sight of a friendly face. Working the bar is Thorak, the orc who owns the place, looking stressed out, his thick green brow more furrowed than usual. I head straight for the two of them, clapping Finn on the back.

“Alright there, Thorak?” I ask.

He grunts in response, pouring me one of his signature ales and passing it over. “Yeah, fine. Mariah’s reached the place in her pregnancy where she’s not sleeping, which means that I’m not sleeping either. She gets up ten times an hour to pee.”

I nod along, taking a sip of the cold, frothy beer. Even though it was years ago for me, I remember those nights well.

“She’s told me I should go sleep in the guest room,” he continues, “but what if something happens to her? What if she needs me? I feel so bad for her. I just want to make her feel comfortable.”

“Don’t worry, man,” I tell him. “The baby will be out soon. She’s due in what, six weeks? And then you’ll never get a good night’s sleep again the rest of your life. So really, you’re just getting used to your new reality.”

Thorak looks up at me in wide-eyed panic. “Never?”

“Never,” I repeat. “So you should take her up on that guest room right now. Get a good night’s sleep while you can, and then return the favor when the baby has come and let her get some shuteye while your baby is up all night. That’ll be more helpful to her than you stressing yourself out of rest right now.”

“Helpful, yeah,” he repeats, running his hands through his hair, looking dazed.

Finn and I exchange amused looks. Watching a good friend become a first-time father is always a good combination of heartwarming and hilarious.

“Anyway,” Finn says, “Mariah couldn’t make it tonight, too tired from the pregnancy, as you may have gathered.”

“Ah,” I say, disappointment setting in. Mariah’s the best person on our team. Without our fourth, we’ll have to forfeit.

“It’s okay, though,” Finn continues. “Ecco found a substitute.”

He gestures over to our usual table, where I see Ecco and Graeme and…

Natalie.

My heart kicks into overdrive, a dizzying mix of excitement and trepidation. I’m not ready to face her, not when I’m still reeling from my own failures and the weight of my secrets.

Ecco catches my eye and waves me over, her smile bright and inviting. I hesitate for a moment, then force myself to move forward.

“Rian! I’m so glad you could make it,” Ecco gushes as I approach the table. “Finn filled you in? Thank the gods Natalie was able to step in at the last minute.”

I glance at Natalie, trying to read her expression. She offers me a small, tentative smile, but there’s a guardedness in her eyes that makes my heart ache.

“Happy to help,” she says, her tone carefully neutral. Her stunning blue eyes watch my every move.

The tension between us casts a spell over the table.

I sink into the empty chair, my mind racing. How am I supposed to focus on trivia when the woman I’ve been pouring my heart out to is sitting just inches away, unaware that I’m the one behind the pen?

Ecco leans in, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Alright, team. I know there’s been some tension lately, but let’s put that aside for the greater good—kicking ass at trivia!”

I catch Natalie’s gaze, her perfectly arched brow raising slightly. A flicker of a smile plays at the corner of her red lips as she nods in agreement.

“I think we can manage that,” she says, her crisp tone softening ever so slightly.

“Absolutely,” I affirm, surprising even myself with the ease of my response. “We’re all here to have a good time, right?” My heart quickens as Natalie’s smile widens, a genuine warmth radiating from her usually reserved demeanor.

The first round of questions begins and the taproom comes alive with the buzz of friendly competition. Graeme’s deep, rumbling laughter mingles with the clink of frosty mugs, while Ecco’s playful jabs keep us all on our toes.

But it’s Natalie who truly shines, her quick wit and expansive knowledge proving invaluable to our team’s success.

“In what year did the Great Elvish Rebellion take place?” the trivia master asks, his voice booming over the crowd.

Natalie’s hand shoots up, her confidence unwavering. “1247,” she declares, her eyes shining in triumph as the answer is confirmed correct.

She may not know much about magic, but her knowledge of our magical lands’ history surprises me. I wonder if this was something she was taught in school, or if she’s been studying up on the history of the magical realms since she’s been here. As usual, there’s more to Natalie than meets the eye.

Round after round, our team surges ahead, bolstered by Natalie’s impressive intellect and our collective camaraderie. I get caught up in the excitement, my earlier worries about the cookoff and Jessa’s detachment momentarily forgotten. As the final question is announced and our victory secured, the table erupts in cheers and high-fives.

Caught up in the moment, I sweep Natalie into a celebratory hug, her petite frame fitting perfectly against my larger one. As we pull back, our eyes lock, and a jolt of electricity courses through me, my fur bristling from the full body touch.

As quickly as the moment comes, it passes, my mind suddenly flooded with guilt.

The vulnerability Natalie shared with me through our journal exchanges, the trust she placed in a stranger…

In me.

The weight of my secret identity crashes over me like a tidal wave, threatening to drown the budding affection I feel for this complex, captivating woman. I release Natalie, stepping back as I force a smile.

“Great job tonight,” I manage, my voice sounding strained even to my own ears.

Natalie tilts her head, her keen gaze searching mine for a moment before she nods. “You too, Rian. We make a pretty good team.”

As the group begins to disperse, I find myself lingering, my heart torn between the desire to confess and the fear of shattering the fragile bond we’ve begun to forge. As the last of the patrons trickle out of Orc’s Anvil, I gravitate towards Natalie once more.

“Hey, we’re headed in the same direction. Mind if I walk with you?”

Natalie’s eyes widen slightly, but she nods, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. “Sure, why not?”

We step out into the cool night air, and I notice Natalie shiver, her fashionable blazer doing little to ward off the chill. Without thinking, I shrug off my flannel shirt and drape it over her shoulders.

“Here, take this.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t—” Natalie begins to protest, but I cut her off with a gentle smile.

“I insist. Can’t have you turning into a popsicle on my watch.”

Natalie laughs, the sound warm and genuine as she pulls the garment, ridiculously oversized on her body, tighter around her petite frame. The sight of her enveloped in my shirt, the sleeves dangling well past her fingertips, elicits a chuckle from my own lips.

“Well, don’t you look cozy,” I tease. Natalie jokingly rolls her eyes at my jab.

As we walk, the levity of the moment fades. The guilt of my secret identity gnaws at me, urging me to come clean. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the confession that could change everything.

“Natalie, there’s something I need to tell you?—”

“If this is about the building sale,” Natalie interjects, her tone gentle but firm, “I’ve been giving it a lot of thought.”

I blink, taken aback by her assumption. “You have?”

She nods, her gaze fixed on the path ahead. “Your words from the other day really struck a chord with me. I don’t want to be the reason for causing harm to you, Jessa, or this community. I know I may seem like a hard-ass with my focus on my work, and on the sale, but the reason I work so hard is for my family. Family is important, and this… Elderberry Falls… is your family.”

My heart races as Natalie continues, her next words filling me with a sense of hope and relief.

“I’ve decided to open up the sale to other potential buyers. I’m going to speak with Barnabus tomorrow and explore alternative offers.”

In that moment, the weight of the world lifts from my shoulders. Overwhelmed with joy and gratitude, I sweep Natalie into my arms, spinning her around in a spontaneous display of elation. Her laughter mingles with my own as she instinctively wraps her arms around my neck, sharing in the celebration.

Gently lowering Natalie back to the ground, our eyes lock. The air between us suddenly feels electric. Her gaze softens, her face tilting upwards as she leans in closer, the distance between our lips diminishing with each passing heartbeat.

Time seems to stand still, the world narrowing to this single, perfect moment as we linger mere inches apart from each other.

She’s been so honest with me. Can I let her kiss a deceiver?

Either way, am I strong enough to resist?