Page 34 of Forbidden Obsession
A thoughtful expression sweeps her features. “My favorite? Hmm, I don’t know. We both know Rahz’s favorite is my apricot pastries, and I know your favorite is my cheesy potatoes. But my favorite? Let me think.”
She mixes the dough idly while her gaze drifts upward. Without her noticing, I memorize her every feature, locking this moment into my mind forever as a day I will treasure.
After a time, she says, “My mulberry pudding is rather nice, isn’t it?”
“Delicious.” A good thing I ate before I came, or this conversation would surely make me hungry.
“That’s my favorite, then. Mulberry pudding.”
I resolve to remember this for later, when the mulberries ripen in a few months. I’ll trade some of our early bean crop for them and bring Bessa a whole bucketful. She’ll be able to make all the pudding her heart desires.
And knowing Bessa, she’ll share.
“Here you are.” She plops the dough in front of me. “Remember how?”
“Yes.” I get to work kneading and folding the dough while Bessa begins the second batch. “How do I tell when it’s done?”
“The texture changes. It’s rough and a little bit sticky now, but as you work the dough, it’ll get stretchier. Smoother. You can test it by pressing a patch with your fingers. It should spring back slowly, leaving only a small indent. I’ll show you.”
We work in companionable silence as I ponder how to phrase my next question. Will she think it’s weird for me to be asking about her personal life? Will she answer?
“Bessa?” I let her name float between us, unable to go on without her invitation.
“Yes, love?”
“Did you ever want children of your own?”
Well, it’s out of me. No clawing it back in.
Her ever-moving hands come to a stop inside the bowl. I know better than to quit kneading, so I go on as if this question were more casual than it is.
She’s watching me, but I can’t bring myself to look away from the dough.
“Why do you ask?”
I shrug and readjust my wings, a nervous habit. “Just curious. There’s so much I don’t know about you.”
Slowly her hands return to motion. “I’ve thought about having children, but never seriously. For one, who would be their father?” This last part she says with a hint of laughter in her voice, which brings me straight to my next question.
“Do you have a beau? I’ve never met your beau.”
“If I wasn’t covered in flour, I’d swat you for that. You know I don’t have a beau, silly. Do you think I could hide an entire extra person from you?” She shakes her head as if I’m being ridiculous. “When you were young, I could barely sneak off to the bathroom by myself, much less hide a beau. At least you don’t follow me around like a little duckling anymore.”
She doesn’t mean for me to feel bad. Of course she doesn’t. But I do anyway. “Is it my fault you don’t have kids?”
She turns, brows creasing. “Is that what this is about, Jinny?” She brings her hands out of the bowl, flour and all, and grabs my shoulders. “What’s happening in that pretty head of yours?”
“You’re human. You don’t have forever like… I want you to have everything you want.”
“I don’t want more kids.” She squeezes my shoulders for emphasis. “I have you. Iwantyou.”
Her effort to reassure me is appreciated, but I can’t let it go yet. “But you thought about it?”
“Impossible not to. It’s just something people think about.” She lifts her shoulders a little. “But even if I did want more children, which I don’t, that wouldn’t affect my love for you. And you’d have a very important job.”
“What’s that?” My voice sounds small, even to my ears.
“Big brother.” She lets me go. “Of course.”
