The house smelled the same as before, all sourced from the kitchen, as if someone were cooking at night.
A faint sweetness of caramelized onions and something vaguely burnt wafted from the kitchen—along with the clatter of mismatched utensils and the occasional muttered curse from the man wearing an apron two sizes too tight.
Vex.
He stood hunched at the hearth stove, sleeves rolled, hair tied sloppily back, trying to stir something with the wrong end of a spoon. A streak of flour ran across his cheek.
His expression was focused, determined, almost childishly proud—until the spoon slipped, and a muffled "Shit—" echoed from behind the counter.
At the dining table, three women sat in silence.
Maira, seated nearest the kitchen's open arch, had her hands folded in her lap—her gaze unwilling to leave the man inside.
Her face was blank, calm… but her eyes betrayed her.
They kept drifting.
Watching him.
Almost entranced.
