Page 36 of Beyond the Cottage

“Explain again, anyway! After all, I’m just a naive girl who needs a sophisticatedbog manto teach me.”

Jonas growled, and Gretta’s knuckles whitened around the scissors. She inched closer, preparing to intervene, when he said, “I’m not getting sucked into another one of your dramas. We’ll talk when you’re ready to quit playing the scorned orphan.” His heavy footsteps retreated.

“I’mnotan orphan!”

When Gretta no longer heard him, she rounded the corner to find Seven staring vacantly down the corridor.

“How the hell did you end up with that piece of shit?”

Seven jumped. “Miss Hacker! Did you, ah…need something?”

“I was looking for breakfast. Couldn’t help overhearing.”

Seven’s eyes slitted. “You mean you couldn’t help spying on a private conversation.”

Gretta shrugged.

Crossing her arms, Seven nodded at the scissors. “Do you intend to assault me again? I’m afraid I don’t have anymore keys to offer, since you lost my only set.”

“Sorry about your cheek.” The scissors went into Gretta’s pocket. “I didn’t really want to hurt you.”

Seven sighed, waving the apology away. “It’s healing fine. I apologize for not insisting they release you from the start.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I know where the blame lies.”

After an awkward silence, Seven cleared her throat. “Well, come along, then. I’ll bring you to the kitchen.”

As they walked, a thousand questions about Seven’s personal life came to mind, though Gretta didn’t think she’d get answers. Still, there was no harm in offering some basic facts. “He’s a prick. You can do a hell of a lot better.”

“I suppose you agree I’m a simple half-wit without any agency.”

“I don’t think that. But why do you keep hanging around those assholes?”

“I’d rather not discuss mine and Jonas’s relationship. As for the director, he has nothing to do with it.”

“No? He doesn’t seem to be helping you.”

Seven drew Gretta to a stop. “Miss Hacker. While I understand your animosity toward him, you will not lay this at his feet. He’s helped me in ways you can’t imagine. He’s tried to intervene to the point of vexation.” Her chin lifted. “But my decisions are, in fact, my own.”

Gretta put her hands up in surrender. Far be it from her to disparage Seven’s precious director.

They continued walking in silence and arrived at an enormous, industrial kitchen. Ansel stood at the stove, and when he heard them enter, he looked over his shoulder. His spatula clattered to the skillet.

“I’ve already eaten,” Seven said to Gretta. “Will there be anything else?”

No good excuse to detain her came, so Gretta shook her head. It had probably been too optimistic to hope she could avoid him all day, and there was no way in hell she’d let him see her run again.

As Seven left, Gretta looked everywhere except at him. Slab counter tops and rough-hewn cabinets surrounded her. Sacks labeled as oats, flour, and sugar lay stacked in a corner, as well as bushels of produce. The butcher block island made her stomach turn, so she skirted it to sit at an empty farm table.

Posture stiff, Ansel returned his attention to the stove. “Would you like bacon and eggs?”

“Fine.” Why starve herself?

When he finished cooking, he set a heaping plate before her. “Do you still like apples?” His face flushed as though he’d asked what color drawers she wore.

“Yes.”

He chose two from a fragrant bushel and sat across from her. Gretta attacked the food, too busy chewing to tell him to leave. He picked at his own breakfast without enthusiasm.

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