Page 24 of Seeds of Sorrow

Peyton could remember the recipe by heart, her hands basically moving on their own as she worked through the steps. She let out a groan when the onions and garlic were added to the pan, the aroma wafting through the kitchen like a comforting blanket. It was an easy enough dish to make once you had practiced a couple of times, and she loved the moment you got to layer all the pieces together.

After she had chopped, sautéed, layered, and covered in sauce, Peyton placed the glass dish in the oven and grabbed the salad ingredients from the fridge. She loved to serve fresh salad with any of her Greek recipes, enjoying the taste of crisp lettuce and the crunch of raw onion. Dicing everything into uniform chunks as much as she was able, Peyton threw the veggies into the salad bowl and tossed in her dressing, adding a squeeze of lemon juice to keep the mixture fresh.

She looked around her and grimaced at the mess she had caused in the kitchen. Dirty chopping boards and utensils were discarded across all the countertops, pieces of vegetables and their skins decorating the floor. She sighed and glanced at the time on the stove clock; she had a few minutes to clean but, damn, was she exhausted.

A smile crossed Peyton’s face as she remembered who she worked for—the Adis family was rich as hell and it meant one key thing… They had a dishwasher. She had grown up with the family taking turns handwashing everything, she and Melina alternating between washing and drying. And when she moved out, she could barely afford her rent, never mind an appliance like a dishwasher. It made the tedious process far easier as she tidied her mess, shoving everything inside to get washed and brushing the mess off the tiled floor.

When she was done, an hour had passed and it was time to check on the moussaka. Peyton looked around for oven mitts, hoping a pair was hanging up somewhere. When she couldn’t find any, she frantically searched the cupboards and drawers to no avail. She grumbled as she grabbed two dishtowels in her hands and pulled the oven open.

A burst of heat blew into her face and she stumbled back. Her panic that the dish would burn her hands was causing her to be careless. Taking a deep breath, she leaned forward and gripped the pan by its edges, pulling it towards the edge of the shelf. She gripped it tightly and lifted it, kicking the oven shut with her foot. She was about to put the dish on the wooden board on the countertop when her dishtowel slipped from her right hand.

Peyton let out a loud scream as the glass burned her hand. The pain overwhelmed her and she let go, the entire thing dropping and shattering into pieces.

“Fuck!” she yelled as she looked at the floor, her moussaka splattered with glass chucks sticking out of the mixture. She knelt down, wincing as her skin burned, and tried to pick up the larger shards. She inched forward and slipped on a piece of eggplant, her hand landing on a pile of glass as she tried to break her fall.

Tears bloomed in her eyes and fell as she lifted her hand, seeing the blood running down her wrists. Thudding footsteps had her cowering as she looked up, seeing Hadina skid into the room with a gun in hand, ready to shoot whomever was there. She looked around, her eyes wild with panic, before seeing Peyton on the ground, huddled by the corner.

“Peyton? What happened?” Lowering her gun, Hadina crept forward and knelt before Peyton, careful to avoid the glass. If Peyton weren’t already crying from the pain and overwhelming embarrassment, she would have cried after seeing the tenderness and concern in Hadina’s face. “Are you okay?”

“I was making dinner,” Peyton hiccupped, “but I couldn’t find oven mitts and the dishtowel slipped when I tried to lift the tray. I burnt myself and then slipped and landed in the glass.”

She held her hand up as proof, and Hadina winced through her teeth as she saw the blood pouring, a red welt forming on her palm underneath the cuts.

“Mierda, you don’t do things by halves, do you?” Standing up, Hadina reached out and helped pull Peyton to her feet, guiding her away from the glass carefully and depositing her in a chair. “Stay here. I’ll get the first aid kit.”

Hadina disappeared and Peyton closed her eyes, mortified and incredibly sore. She could feel her blood dripping from her hand onto her pants but she loathed the idea of moving, knowing the sting would intensify.

“Don’t you dare pass out on me, Miss Dimitra,” Hadina said, coming back into the room with a first aid box in hand. “I will leave your ass to bleed out.”

Peyton laughed through her tears, wincing when Hadina lifted the wounded hand to inspect it. “I don’t doubt that for a minute.”

She watched as Hadina fluttered around the kitchen, grabbing a bowl, filling it with water, and sitting down on the floor in front of her. “Lo siento,” she said before catching Peyton’s confused look. “It meansI’m sorrybecause this is going to hurt.”

Peyton barely had time to process her employer’s words before Hadina poured lukewarm water over her hand and wiped away the blood. Hissing and gritting her teeth, Peyton tried to sit still as Hadina cleaned out the small cuts before examining the burn. If she were being perfectly honest with herself, Peyton wanted to punch Hadina so hard in the throat that she’d never be able to call her Miss Dimitra in thatdamnvoice ever again. It could be the pent-up anger and fear, or it could be the pain that was talking; either way, Peyton wanted to hit Hadina despite the woman’s present kindness.

“I’m really thankful that you’re helping,” Peyton ground out, “but I think I’m going to smack you if you keep prodding at my hand.”

Hadina tightened her grip on Peyton’s injured palm and smirked. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

“You wish.”

The silence between them stretched taut as Hadina worked on Peyton’s injuries, the latter unable to take her eyes off the former. She really would never get over how beautiful Hadina was. Her dark hair and brows, long eyelashes framing vibrant eyes, a perfectly sculpted face with warm brown skin; Peyton wanted to worship at her feet like the woman was a deity.

Peyton watched as Hadina applied ointment to her burn before pulling some dressings from the box. “How’d you learn to clean wounds?”

Hadina looked up, catching her gaze for a second before looking down again. “My line of work isn’t exactly above board, as I’m sure you guessed, given the guns and all.”

Peyton snorted. “I gathered, yeah.”

Hadina tried to hide her smirk, lowering her head further so that dark hair shadowed her face. “My mom was a nurse. Well, she was before I was born. She thought it was super important for us all to know how to take care of various injuries and stuff, in case there were any emergencies.”

“And were there? Emergencies?”

Hadina hesitated before nodding. “More than I can count. It was an invaluable skill to learn.”

“What was she like?”

“Who?”

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