Page 48 of The Witch's Shifter
But Auntie did. Goddess, how we used to laugh.
Ignoring my mother’s sharp look, I cross the kitchen and rise onto my toes to press a kiss to Alden’s scruffy beard. He smells like smoke from the fire crackling in the hearth.
“I didn’t know you could—” I start, then spot one of my cookbooks open on the kitchen counter. “Ah, you found my recipes, then.”
Alden gives me a guilty smile. “I hope it’s good, but... I’m better with a hammer than I am a spoon.”
“Well, let’s give it a taste.”
I grab the ladle from Alden’s hand and dip it into the simmering soup. “It certainly smells good,” I say, then blow gently on the spoonful until it’s stopped steaming. When it hits my tongue, I’m notably impressed—Alden did a great job following my cookbook. It’s still missing a little something though. “It’s delicious,” I say after chewing and swallowing adelightfully chunky potato. “Just needs a dash of nutmeg and a sprinkle of thyme.”
Alden lets out a breath, looking pleased and relieved. “I think I can do that.” He takes the ladle from my hand, his gaze cutting briefly over my shoulder to my mother. “Why don’t you show your mother the rest of the house?”
What Ireallywant to do is stay right here beside him, using him as an Evelyn Silvermoon shield, but he’s right.
Putting on a smile, I turn to face my mother. “Are you warm?” I ask. “I can take your cloak.”
Mama unclasps the cloak from about her neck and holds it out to me. “Thank you.”
“Sure.”Goddess, we’re unnatural with each other.“Come this way. I’ll show you the rest of the cottage.”
“I have been here before,” she says, her tone a bit sharp, as she follows after me into the foyer.
It’s a small jab but a jab nonetheless, and I feel slightly foolish as I hang her cloak on a wall hook in the foyer.
From the kitchen, Alden calls out, “But you haven’t seen what Aurora has done with the place. You’re sure to be pleased!”
He sounds friendly, lighthearted even. But I know what she said irked him; he’s not one to speak up very often, so the fact he’s doing so now likely means my mother is putting him on edge. He knows how much this cottage means to me.
In response, Mama just clasps her hands in front of her and casts her gaze about.
I show her into the parlor, and my heart sinks when I find the couch empty. This is Faolan’s spot, the place where I can usually find him if he’s not outdoors. If he’s not here, where is he?
“See the old rocking chair?” I point to the wooden chair sitting beside the fire. “That was Auntie’s, the one she used to rock us in when we were little. Remember?”
My mother’s lips are pressing into a firm line now. “I remember.” Her purple gaze drifts across the parlor, taking everything in: the lovingly worn couch, the drapes hugging the windows, the basket of knitting supplies nestled beside the rocking chair. When her eyes land on me, I swear the hair on my arms and the back of my neck stands on end.
I left Wysteria for a number of reasons, and one of the reasons is looking right at me. I’m not sure why she seems to have such disdain for everything involving her sister—the displeasure is written clearly across her face. And it makes me sad. Though I try not to let that show. My mother would just find it weak.
I clear my throat and gesture toward the foyer. “Let’s go upstairs. I’ll show you the baby’s room.” I start in the direction of the staircase. “I’ve not had much time to prepare it yet, but Alden is going to build the cradle, and—”
“I think I’ve seen enough.”
Five simple words, yet they slice right through me, leaving me almost gasping for air.
I’m standing in the foyer now, and Alden peeks his head through the kitchen doorway, his brow furrowed, dark eyes narrow and angry. That look and the too-small apron are an odd combination. And it’s so rare to see Alden angry that the look takes me by surprise. I can only imagine the thoughts going through his head right now.
Thankfully, for the time being at least, he keeps those thoughts to himself. Instead, he whispers, “Are you okay?”
I give him a small quick nod, the movement so subtle I doubt my mother will notice it, even with her keen perception.
Heart fluttering in my chest and my palms now sweating, I turn to face her. “Why? You don’t want to see your grandchild’s room?”
Mama moves her mouth a bit, as if she’s chewing on a few scathing remarks and deciding which one to spit out.
But she doesn’t get the chance. From here, I can hear the kitchen door open, and Rowan’s and Selene’s laughter fills the cottage. They must be done feeding the hens.
With a sigh, I turn and leave my mother standing alone in the parlor. I want to be with my sister, with someone who cares for me, someone who at leasttriesto understand me. Mama can spend the entire evening alone in here for all I care.
