Page 32 of Hush Darling
She stirred the ingredients with a long wooden spoon. “With a little heat and the right ingredients, you can make just about anything.” She handed off the wooden spoon and directed Cass to keep stirring so she could get some space from all that potent male energy.
Moving to the island, she measured out some dry ingredients.
“What’s that?” the twins asked as she dumped flour into a deep bowl.
“This will be the dumplings.”
Peter watched but didn’t share the Lost Boys’ curiosity. They were very helpful and responded well when she acknowledged their efforts with gratitude. “Who wants to set the table?”
“I will!” Cass, Tate, and the twins all volunteered at once.
Wendy handed off plates, spoons, napkins, and glasses so they could all contribute.
Peter wore an expression of boredom as he waited for the soup to finish cooking, and Bayne kept to the shadows, always watching with that calculating stare from the outside looking in.
There was something unnatural about him as if his upbringing embedded a sense of distrust, and he didn’t know how to form relationships. Yet somehow, he stuck by Peter all these years.
“How did you all meet?” she asked, casually disguising her interest as she kneaded the dumplings.
“We were prisoners,” Peter said as he chomped on the scraps left on the cutting board.
“Prisoners? Of what?”
“A wretched beast who locked us in frigid cells where we had no choice but to serve the evil that trapped us.”
Was he joking? She thought he was, but the others lowered their gazes. She couldn’t tell if they did so to hide smirks or out of some form of respect.
“I escaped first.” Peter proclaimed, slamming down the cleaver to cut off the green leaves of a carrot. “Then Bayne. Then the others.”
She frowned. He spoke as if telling a bedtime story, but there was a solemness in the air that hinted at the truth.
Peter hopped off the stool and came to stand behind her, holding the carrot to her throat like a blade. “We were never captured again. From then on, we made the rules.”
“We take the prisoners,” Tate said, nodding in agreement.
“Like pirates,” Nibbs nodded.
Wendy cleared her throat and gently pushed away Peter’s hand. “Pirates?”
“Aye,” one of the twins said. “We take what we want and want for nothing.”
“You could be a pirate, too,” Peter told her. “We could call you something wicked, like Red-Handed Wendy—the innocent bird who escaped her cage and never got caught.”
She gave him an unimpressed side glance. “For a bird, I’m not the best when it comes to flying.”
“You’ll learn.”
Nibbs perked up. “We can teach you to swim, too! We can teach you anything you want to know. There are no rules here, except for one.”
“And what is that?”
“Peter’s in charge,” they all said at once.
She looked at each face, noting the resolute loyalty in their eyes. How did Peter become such a high-ranking leader among a group of seemingly equal friends? And how much of what they said was actually true?
“It’s time to clean the chicken from the bone,” she said, putting the crew to work.
Peter might be their leader, but they followed her orders easily, coming to work around the island and helping in any way they could. All but two.
