Chapter 10

Aurora

IT'S A PERFECT SPRING DAY, the type that whispers sweet songs of the summer warmth to come. I finished cleaning the garden yesterday, and now the raised beds are empty and waiting, ripe with possibility. A few spring shoots have already started pushing through the thick leaves and pine needles on the forest floor, and there's a smell in the air, like wood and rich earth topped with a sprinkling of sunlight. It makes my toes curl in my boots, anticipation mounting for the beautiful season ahead.

I've got the windows open in the cottage, and the thin cotton drapes I hung billow in the breeze. A fire crackles in the parlor hearth, so the cottage has a comforting balance of warmth and cold, the polarity of the two extremes in perfect harmony.

I'm just finishing slicing up a sourdough bread loaf when Harrison flicks his ears and leaps off the kitchen table. His little paws make tiny thumping sounds on the hardwood as he trots into the parlor, and a moment later, he announces, "That man is walking up the road."

My whole body prickles with excitement. Alden didn't seem all that enthusiastic about my request that he help me with one last thing, so I wasn't sure whether he'd show up or not.

I transfer the bread slices onto a wooden platter, along with a big dollop of rosemary lavender butter on the side, then sweep the platter into my hands and step out the side door into the garden. Alden is just approaching Brookside, hair gleaming in the sun, and his head turns in my direction. I wave, but he doesn't wave back.

"Good morning," I call out to him. "Breakfast is ready!"

I dragged Auntie's old metal table and chairs around from behind the cottage, and I was even able to sew a few cushions together using fabrics I got from the seamstress in Faunwood. I've already placed a kettle of lavender tea on the table, and with the sourdough slices steaming in the morning air, everything looks perfect, just like I pictured.

Alden joins me at the table beside the garden. The look on his face is a mixture of hesitance and what seems like excitement. I'm not sure how anyone could resist the smell of warm sourdough in the morning.

"Go ahead, sit down." I gesture to the chair across from me, and we both take a seat. Alden makes the chair look tiny, kind of like everything else around my cottage. His size dwarfs the table, to the point where I giggle.

"What?" he asks.

"Nothing," I answer innocently. "Want some tea? "

Without waiting for him to respond—I know how that usually goes—I pour the hot tea into a little floral teacup, then place it on a saucer and hand it across the table to him. He handles the porcelain like a newborn babe, again making me smile to myself.

"Here, try the bread." I slather a thin layer of the rosemary butter onto a slice, then hand it over. Our fingers brush, the touch sending little tingles through my hand.

He takes a bite, and a sigh escapes him. I wait with excitement curling in my stomach.

I've always enjoyed cooking and baking for myself, but there's something so special about feeding others and watching their faces light up with satisfaction.

"It's delicious," he announces, promptly following the first bite with a second, then a third. The slice is gone before I can even swipe any butter onto mine.

"I've been playing with my recipe. I want to bake something wonderful for the Ostara festival. To make a good first impression, you know?"

Alden just nods and sips his tea, then reaches for another slice.

And somehow, it makes me feel triumphant, like I finally broke through his rough exterior with a bit of homecooked bliss.

We enjoy our meal together, sipping tea and taking slices of the warm bread. Alden doesn't say much, but I don't mind it. Instead of words, we're surrounded by birdsong and the whisper of the breeze through the forest, playing its own special tune .

"That was... somethin' else." Alden finishes his cup of tea and sits back in his chair with a contented sigh. "You make that for Ostara, you'll put people into a bread coma."

Smiling to myself, I take another sip of tea. Alden watches me from across the table, and I don't miss the way his eyes find my mouth as I lick the last drop of tea from my bottom lip. It reminds me of our kiss in the kitchen—and of other things I'd like to do with him.

He clears his throat and glances toward the cottage. "So, what do you need my help with?" His gaze tracks across the cottage. "Everything looks fine to me."

Excitement bubbling in my veins, I hop up from the table. "Stay here. I'll be right back."

I scurry back into the house, past Harrison where he's sprawled out in a patch of sunlight on the stairs, and into the second bedroom. After picking up two cans from the closet, I head back outside, failing to keep a big smile from my face.

When Alden sees what I'm carrying, he arches a brow. "You want to paint the cottage?"

"Well, Brookside needs a bit of color," I say, turning to look up at the dull exterior. The paint has long faded, giving the entire cottage a gloomy feel. Auntie would never have let it get this way while she was still living here, and it feels like this is one of the last updates that needs to be made.

Looking back to Alden, I hold out one of the cans. "So, what do you say? Want to help me bring it back to life?"

He considers for such a long moment that my arm gets tired holding the paint can. And just when I've about convinced myself he's going to say no, he offers me a tiny hint of a smile. "Sure."

THE SPRING DAY COOPERATES BEAUTIFULLY. It's the first truly warm day we've had; I even opt for a short-sleeved blouse and a lightweight skirt under my painting apron. Alden doesn't bother covering his tunic and trousers, probably because he works in them anyway.

As the sun arches across the pale blue sky, Alden and I work on painting Brookside a vibrant yellow. With each swish of my paintbrush across the faded old cottage, I feel a bit of magic swirling inside me.

Because Auntie would love this. She'd love the cheerful color and the drapes billowing in the windows and the kettle of tea sitting on the garden table. I can imagine her sitting there, long silver hair tickling her elbows, laughing in that twinkling way of hers.

I cannot wait for Samhain. Surely she'll stop by.

When we've nearly finished painting and are just touching up the last few spots, I set my painting supplies down so I can peel off my boots and socks and press my toes into the earth, relishing the tingle of energy that curls up my ankles and into my body.

"What are you doing?" Alden asks, paintbrush held in one hand and a paint can in the other.

"Connecting with the earth." I twist a little bit, loving the feel of my skirt swishing around my calves. "Go on, try it."

He looks down at his feet with a wrinkled brow. "I don't know..."

"Why not? You weren't born with boots on, you know." Grabbing my paintbrush, I flick paint in his direction, and it splatters across his cheek.

He freezes.

Everything goes still. I think even the birds hold their breath.

Because I may have just totally ruined things with him.

A second passes, then two. My teeth slip out to bite my bottom lip.

Alden reaches up to touch his face, and his fingertips come away painted yellow.

"You shouldn't have done that," he says, voice low as his brown eyes slide up to meet mine.

Dread curls in my belly. I didn't mean to upset him. "I'm sor—"

Before I can get the words out, paint speckles my apron. I blink in surprise.

Alden is pulling his arm back, aiming for me, and—

Splat!

A big wad of paint spatters across me, getting in my hair and on both my cheeks.

"You. Did. Not. " Mouth open in surprise, I reach into my paint can with my bare hand. "You'll pay for that."

"We'll see," Alden says. And then he takes off running.

I sprint after him, feet whispering through the grass and over the fallen leaves. But he's much too fast for me, and I know I'll never catch him. So instead, I huddle beside a blackberry bush next to the cottage, and there I wait in silence, paint dripping from my hand, waiting for my moment to attack.

Sure enough, Alden comes running around the side of the cottage, looking over his shoulder for me. He doesn't even see it coming.

Leaping up from my hiding place, I fling the paint, and this time it splatters his tunic and one of his broad arms. The yellow is made even more vibrant against his rich summer-brown skin, and for the very first time, I get to see his white teeth when he tips his head back and laughs.

A real laugh.

It's deep and rumbling and better than I could ever have imagined.

He just laughs harder when I skip to his side and press my hand to his cheek, leaving a sunny handprint behind.

This is amazing. I didn't know he could laugh like this, be like this.

It's like I've only ever been able to read the outside of Alden's book, but now that I've opened it up, I'm even more intrigued by what I've found.

When he finally stops laughing and wipes a tear from his eye, he looks down at me and smiles. "We're a mess."

"At least it's a happy mess."

Brown hair tousled and eyes shining, he says, "I have something to show you."

I blink and raise my eyebrows. "Like, now ?"

His only response is to reach for my hand, and not a world exists in which I wouldn't happily let him take it.