Page 26 of The Witch's Cottage
I just call it Aurora.
Chapter 15
Aurora
BAKING HAS NEVER CAUSED ME so much grief.
I love this tiny kitchen,adoreit, but when it comes to baking bread and cookies for the entire village, suddenly there’s not enough table space, and I keep losing my measuring spoons and baking goods. I swear my sugar likes to up and walk away. If Auntie Lilith were here, I’d think she put a charm on it just to make herself laugh. She used to play pranks like that all the time. What I wouldn’t give for a good laugh right about now.
Pulling a fresh sack of flour from the cupboard, I set it on the edge of the kitchen table, then turn to—
The table wobbles, as italwaysdoes, and it sends the flour tumbling straight to the hardwood floor. A silent explosion of flour coats the entire kitchen, painting everything—me included—a soft shade of cream.
For a moment, all I can do is stand there, eyes wide, horrified at the mess now covering my entire kitchen. My cupboards, my floor, my hair—it’s all flour.
At that same moment, the porch creaks, and someone knocks on my door.
It’s a specific knock, firm but undemanding, and I already know it’s Alden. I didn’t know if he’d visit today, but now I’m suddenly very grateful he’s here.
Without moving, I call out, “Come in!”
I’m still standing in the kitchen, frozen in my flour mess, when Alden appears in my doorway, wearing loose trousers and a tunic with the sleeves rolled up. His brown eyes immediately go wide.
“What happened?” he asks, brow furrowing as his gaze sweeps across the aftermath.
“The... The...” I don’t know why, but tears are suddenly swimming in my eyes. “The table. It wobbled, and my flour...” My gaze darts to the empty sack now lying rumpled on my kitchen floor. “How am I ever going to get all my baking done? I’m not going to have enough time, and the village will think I don’t care about them, and then... then...”
Now tears are streaming down my cheeks, and I’m clenching my hands into fists, standing in my kitchen crying like a child. Even though I know it’s probably silly, I can’t seem to stop the tears.
Not at all concerned about getting himself covered in flour, Alden immediately crosses the threshold into the kitchen and wraps me in his embrace. He smells like wood shavings and soap, and for some reason, the comfort his arms provide just makes me cry harder.
“It’s all ruined!” I sob into his shirt, my tears leaking into the fabric.
One of his large hands strokes the length of my hair, and he shushes me softly. “It’s not all ruined. You just need a break. Come on. It’s beautiful outside.”
“I can’t leave it like this!” I say, pulling away from him as if he’s just suggested the impossible.
“Youcan,” he says, taking my teary face between his hands. His thumbs sweep under my eyes, brushing the tears away. “I’ll help you clean up when we get back. Let’s go.”
Without waiting for my response, he spins me around, unties my apron, and lifts it off over my head. When I look down at my dress, there’s a flour-free shape of an apron on the fabric.
Before I can resist, Alden takes my hand and leads me out the kitchen door into the sun. It’s such a pleasant day that I don’t even need a shawl, and the warmth helps dry the remaining tears on my cheeks.
Alden pauses beside the garden to brush the flour from my dress and my hair. I stand there like a child, arms held out, letting him sweep it all away. When he’s done, he steps back to survey his work.
“Better. Now come on.” He holds his hand out, and I take it with a little sigh.
He leads me past the garden, where I’m about to start a few beds of seeds, and around the back of the cottage into the woods. The undergrowth is thick here, and tall dried brown grasses tickle my fingers as I walk alongside Alden. Greenery is poking up through everything the fall left behind, and it won’t be long now before the forest explodes with vibrant green and colorful blooms.
The air smells sweet with the promise of summer, and birds flit through the pine trees overhead, singing to one another in voices that carry above the treetops. A tiny finch swoops through the branches, and watching her soar on the breeze makes me smile.
Alden squeezes my hand, and when I glance up at him, he’s looking down at me, eyes kind and soft.
“Now,” he says, voice gentle, “what do we need to do to get your baking done in time? It’s still a couple days until Ostara.”
Trying not to let myself get worked up again, I take a deep breath, then list out what needs done. “I need to clean up the kitchen, then go back to the mercantile and get more flour. I’ve already finished a few dozen lemon cookies, so I mostly need to bake the bread now.”
“And how long will that take?”
