“Eat, and then I’ll take a look at your head, and then maybe let you go home.”
“Fine,” she sighed, glaring at me as she took a bite. Her expression quickly melted into one of deep contentment.
“Holy Hel, this is good jam. Where did you get it?”
“I made it.”
“Really? How domestic of you.”
“My family’s kitchen maid taught me how to make it myself because I used to eat it out of a jar with a spoon and finish it off within days of her making a batch,” I confessed.
“That’s adorable, actually. And you still have a thing for citrus, don’t you?” she mused.
I thought of that first day she’d caught my eye, the lemon-and-sunshine scent of her skin that immediately captured my attention. I hadn’t managed to look away since.
“Yeah, maybe.”
Chapter Fifty-Three
Arken
As Kieran got up to finish brewing his tea, I let my curious eyes wander. This was the first time I’d ever actually had an opportunity to see his place.
The townhouse was surprisingly sophisticated and expensive looking, between the matching furniture sets and the built-in floor-to-ceiling bookshelves—filled to the brim with books. Some of them looked like first-edition novels, others were thick tomes on art, history, arcana, and so much more.
There were a few gold and bronze accent pieces, sculptures and abstract art on canvas placed elegantly throughout the room, which contrasted flawlessly with the deep blue filigree wallpaper and the plush carpets against the dark wood flooring. And gods, were those real plants on the windowsill? The manmanaged to keep plants alive on his work schedule? In all its elevated elegance, this looked like the type of townhouse one might inherit—not something Kieran would have purchased for himself. Curious.
There were bits and pieces of the Kieran I knew scattered throughout, though—you just had to look a little closer to catch them: the uniform coat strewn across the tufted leather chaise, and several cups of tea in various states of completion placed in odd locations, along with some half-eaten oranges. There was one heavy-looking ceramic mug acting as a very precarious bookend on the shelf to my left, and I couldn’t help but laugh. It even had a teaspoon in it still.
His voice startled me as he re-entered the room, supplies in hand.
“What are you even giggling about in here?”
“How many teacups would you say that you own?” I teased. I was sort of surprised, he didn’t often order tea when we were out. Though I usually did.
He shrugged.
“Tea helps me sleep.”
Yet another thing we had in common. Would we ever run out of similarities to stumble across? I wasn’t sure.
As he sat back down next to me, he began to prepare a cloth strip with some antiseptic solution. I reached for it, extending my hand towards his lap.
“Here, I can do that,” I offered. “You’ve done more than enough for me today.”
Kieran rolled his eyes and batted my hand away before I could take the medicine kit from him.
“Hush. Let me see your head,” he said in a brusque tone that almost reminded me of… Amaretta, of all people.
I sighed.
“I mean it, Kier… I can clean these scrapes up myself and get out of your hair, just point me to your—”
I trailed off, my train of thought interrupted immediately when he took two callused fingers and pushed my jaw to the side, ignoring my words. He was inspecting my forehead with the surgical attention of a cleric, and continued to steadfastly ignore my protests as he began dabbing at the scrape on my scalp, just above my forehead.
“I’m not sure if you realize this, Arken, but it’s perfectly alright to let yourself be taken care of from time to time.” Though his tone was serious, there was a glimmer in his eye that told me he was mostly teasing. “And you don’t even need to be on death’s doorstep to deserve it.”
Kieran gave me a pointed glance before returning to his work. I grumbled some incoherent noise to express my disagreement with his general sentiment. Was it such a crime to be accustomed to self-sufficiency?