Page 7 of Tomlin

“If you say so,” she said doubtfully.

“I apologize if my absence disturbed you. I didn’t think you would notice.”

She raised her eyebrow at that one.

“And why wouldn’t I notice? This is my house, after all.”

“Then please forgive my lack of manners.” He gave an oddly formal little half-bow, then gestured across the hall. “Would you care to eat?”

She was tempted to refuse but that would be childish, and while she hadn’t noticed before, she suddenly realized that she was hungry. Giving an abrupt nod, she followed him. The table was once again neatly laid, and this time there was a small arrangement of late blooming wildflowers in the center. One of her few indulgences in the city had been a weekly delivery of flowers for her office and she hadn’t realized until that moment how much she’d missed it.

“These are very pretty.” She stroked her finger down a velvety petal, then looked up to find him watching the gesture intently. “I don’t remember seeing them around here.”

He cleared his throat and turned to the stove.

“They grow alongside the stream at the base of the mountains.”

If she remembered correctly from her initial survey of the area, that stream was a good ten miles away. Just how long had he run? Before she could decide whether or not to question him, he returned with a plate of perfectly golden pancakes topped with fresh berries.

“Did those come from the stream as well?”

“No. There is a patch of brambles along the far side of the corral.”

The corral. She hadn’t even thought to check if his horse was still there when she’d looked outside earlier. Would the knowledge that he was returning have made her less distracted? Annoyed that it would make a difference to her, she concentrated on her food instead. The pancakes were as delicious as they looked and they quickly disappeared.

“Would you care for more pancakes?”

She looked up and found him watching her from across the table, a small smile hovering on those well-shaped lips.

“No, thank you. But they were very good.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed them.”

“Where did you learn to cook like that?”

The smile disappeared as he rose to collect the empty plates.

“It was a long time ago.”

He clearly didn’t want to discuss the matter, but she was still curious.

“I never really learned,” she volunteered. “Our chef did not appreciate anyone invading his kitchen.”

Especially not an awkward little girl, even if she were technically his employer.

“My… The person I lived with taught me.”

His back was still to her as he washed the plates but there was something about the way he’d paused that made her think he might have been about to mention a relative - a mother, perhaps. Why would he have hesitated? And why did he suddenly seem vulnerable to her?

An unexpected wave of sympathy washed over her and perhaps that was what made her speak.

“You said you were interested in my research on the morchev. Would you like to see what I’m working on now?” His shoulders definitely tensed this time and she immediately regretted making the offer. “Not that you have to,” she added quickly.

“On the contrary. I would be most interested.”

He turned back around and their eyes met for a fraction of a second before he looked away, but even that brief glance caused a strange rush of warmth.

“All right. Is there anything I can do to help-”