Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 145721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
She’d woken up in the middle of the night feeling like bugs crawled all over her skin. She hadn’t been able to fall asleep after that. Nor think of anything else.
Instead, she’d gotten dressed and come to Graves’s house before sunrise. She decided she was going to bake a few loaves of bread. He loved having fresh bread in the morning. Loved the smell of it wafting up through the house to greet him.
But when she’d arrived, he had been seated in the kitchen. As if he knew that she would be there. A crystal glass sat before him, empty. Just a few melting ice cubes in the bottom. He stared down in it like it would refill itself. Or he’d drown in it.
It wasn’t that different than the first time she had met him. She had been working as a pastry chef far away from here. He came in every day, asking for one of her latest creations. She’d admired his handsome build, but there was something dark inside of him. Something that twisted him up. She had only been twenty-five at the time. Still bold and reckless.
When he stayed after hours with his head buried in a drink, she had struck up a conversation. They had never been romantic. She had seen too quickly that he could never love someone. Not the way she wanted. He was a man of a thousand broken pieces.
When he offered her the job, she hadn’t thought twice before agreeing. He needed handling. She could see that. And strangely, she wanted to be the person who did it.
Over the years, she had watched people flit in and out of his life. Women and men entered her kitchen and swiftly departed. Few stayed for long as he trained them.
If there was one thing that was constant about Graves, it was leaving.
The people in his life were temporary.
He never got close enough to another living soul to feel anything more than passing interest. It infuriated most. Some left with sad resignation. Maybe they saw what she saw. That a broken man could not love, for no one could put those pieces back together once they were sufficiently shattered.
Worse, who could ever love him? She loved him in her own way. A dutiful way. She was devoted to him. But he only showed her the best of him. To be loved, you had to show all your worst, too.
Isolde knew the man she worked for.
He was the villain of his own story.
She didn’t mind. He paid her, cared for her, looked after her all the same. But for more than that, you had to meet someone right where they were. See who they were, all the damaged parts, and want to be with them anyway.
When she saw him sitting there in her kitchen, she knew in her heart what had happened.
Kierse had gone.
And he had let her.
Isolde stepped quietly into the kitchen. She got out her ingredients and carefully mixed the flour, salt, and yeast. She added the water last, bringing the dough together as she’d been taught so long ago. Her old arms didn’t like kneading, but she found it better than using one of the new mixers. Faster didn’t mean better. It didn’t imbue it with love.
It wasn’t until she had poured the dough out onto the counter and begun to knead it that she finally spoke. “Kierse has gone?”
Graves nodded. He didn’t even seem surprised. “She’s returned to her family.”
“For good?”
He nodded again. “Yes.” He paused there. Some fire came into his features before quickly dissipating. As if he couldn’t even find the anger anymore. A small sigh. “Her time here was always tenuous.”
“What will you do?”
“What I always do.” When he glanced up at her, he looked pained. “Start over. Again.”
Isolde saw the truth under those words. He was hurting. He had been so different these last weeks. Kierse had been good for him. She didn’t put up with his morose behavior. She made jokes with him. They had similar interests. It had been a true blessing to watch them both begin to open up. She’d never thought she’d see the day. For the first time in her tenure with Graves, she had wondered if she was wrong about him. If he was capable of love after all.
“But what about Kierse?”
“She made her decision. They always do. One after the other after the other. They choose . . .” He waved his hand and then reached for the bottle and poured himself another drink. “Whatever they find important.”
Over him. Over learning magic. Over this life.
She understood in her own way why someone would want a simple life. The magic he wielded was not in any way simple. It was dark, deadly, and dangerous. Most people couldn’t handle it. She had thought that Kierse was different.