Page 34 of Tusks, Tails & Teacakes
Lira had to admit that it hadn’t. She still wanted a different life than the one she’d been living. She still wanted to return to the simple life she’d had before she’d left, even if that simple life might have been based on a web of secrets.
Sass straightened, not waiting for any more of an answer than Lira’s gentle shake of her head. “Good. I’ll keep everyone happy with drinks, and I won’t tell them that their dinner is being rolled out by a furry, winged beast.” She gave a wicked grin. “Or maybe I’ll tell Silas that the kitchen is run by weasels, and he’ll go do his scowling someplace else.”
Sass swished back through the doors, and Lira turned to see that Crumpet had the pastry dough rolled to the ideal thickness. “I can’t believe she called you a weasel, either.”
The flutter-stoat chittered his feelings about the misnaming, which made Lira laugh. Crumpet had clearly been enchanted to have wings, but she wondered about the whole story behind the little guy.
“One day you’re going to have to tell me how you learned to do all this,” Lira said as Crumpet flew back to the counter and sat on his haunches again, his white paws folded neatly in front of him as if he was finally satisfied that Lira could take over.
Sizing up the dough and the cooled pot of filling, Lira made the snap decision to create folded hand pies instead of freestanding ones, hoping they would bake faster. “Can’t let down our regulars.”
The idea of three patrons—and the grumpy Silas—making up the entirely of their “regulars” lodged a hysterical giggle in her throat. That wasn’t much better than when she’d first arrived at The Tusk & Tail.
“Lananore wasn’t built in a day,” she told herself, although the saying was small comfort. She sincerely hoped it wouldn’t take the centuries it took the elves. She might have elvish blood, but that didn’t mean she’s inherited their lifespan—or their patience.
Twenty
Lira stood backand admired the half-moon-shaped hand-pies cozied together on a wooden tray. She’d managed not to burn a single one of them, although she’d opened the oven a dozen times to check on their progress, which had made the baking take longer than she’d hoped. She would need to figure out some way to fix the oven or figure out when it was going to belch heat and when it was going to splutter cold.
Still, she was proud of her creation as she backed from the kitchen and through the doors. Until she pivoted around and nearly bumped into Sass with her tray.
The dwarf’s eyes wentwide. “What are these?”
Lira wilted as Sass stared at the baked goods as if they might snap at her.
“What they are is not burned.” Lira lowered the tray slightly so Sass could get a better look at the crimped crust that was the perfect shade of golden brown.
“Is this supper?” Sass fiddled with her braid, which the dwarf did when she was nervous.
“It’s the same meat pie as before, but this version is portable.” To demonstrate, Lira picked up one of the crescents, ignoring the intense heat seeping from the bottom.
“Because we have so much need for our patrons to walk around with their food.”
Lira didn’t miss the snarky tone, but she shrugged it off. “They baked faster and none of them burned.” She made to turn back around. “Or should I go back and give them to Crumpet?”
Sass grabbed the edge of the tray. “Bite your tongue. That wee beast gets enough food from you as it is.”
Lira let Sass flounce off with the tray, even though she could hear her muttering about pocket pies. She didn’t return to the kitchen right away, though. As much as she relished her dominion over the kitchen and her relative solitude—Crumpet believed in companionable silence when he wasn’t chittering his disapproval of her crust—it was nice to see her labors being enjoyed.
She had to give the dwarf credit. She might not be a fan of Lira’s newest creation, but you’d never know it by how she pirouetted through the great room, lowering the tray with a flourish to show off the pies.
That must be the haberdasher, Lira thought as she spotted a gnome with distinctive pointed ears that flared to each side. She’d seen him before, of course. Not in the village, but in the tavern the night before.
His hair was silver and stood up in a tidy swirl on his head, the shape and hue mimicked by his short, pointed beard. But it was the clothes that were the giveaway to his profession. They were brightlycolored and fastidiously arranged, a sea-blue shirt under a mossy-green vest with a butter-yellow ascot billowing at his neck. He hadn’t always been the village’s haberdasher, although her memories of the wizened old woman who’d used to run the shop were hazy.
Lira squinted across the room, even though her eyesight was perfect. Was the blonde woman who looked like she could rip a tree out by the stump knitting? And was Sass perched on the arm of her chair? Her pulse quickened as she felt Korl’s gaze on her again. She was no stranger to men staring at her, but the way he looked at her didn’t make her want to run him through with a dagger, which might have been a first.
She told herself that she was going over to check on Sass, but it was really her curiosity about Korl and Val that drew her.
Val grinned as she approached, holding up a hand pie. “I hear these are your idea.”
Lira nodded, hoping she wasn’t going to have to explain why their supper wasn’t more formally presented. “Guilty.”
“We love them, don’t we, Korl?”
Korl flicked his gaze to her quickly then away again, making a low rumbling sound she hoped was his version of yes.
Val laughed. “See? He really likes them. You don’t get a reaction like that from him every day.”
