Elara
Alaric and I stood on opposite sides of the kitchen, moving in sync as we prepared the meal. Neither of us spoke, rhythmic sounds of chopping and stirring the only sounds that filled the space between us.
I couldn’t help but steal occasional glances at him. Maybe he wasn’t as cold or unfeeling as I had initially imagined. In fact, he seemed unexpectedly considerate at times.
“Could you pass me the pepper?” I asked, reaching out.
He handed it over without looking up. “Here.”
“Thanks.”
We continued working in silence. I was sauteing vegetables while he seasoned the chicken. The rich aroma began to fill the kitchen, which was a stark contrast to the bland food from earlier.
“Do you cook often?” I found myself asking.
He shrugged. “When necessary.”
“I didn’t peg you for
