Page 38 of The Pumpkin Bride

There was great satisfaction in eating a savory meal after a long day of honest work. The kitchen staff at Thornwick and Brambleton dished out delicious, intricate recipes, but she’d take this simple fare over elaborate meals any day. She ladled portions into waiting crocks, then set them on the table. Spoons, knives, butter, and hunks of bread. Next, two mugs of spring water.

“Supper’s ready,” she said.

Jask, finally free of his boots, pumped spring water onto his uninjured hand. Before she could offer to help him wash, he lathered by rotating the soap in his palm. Ingenious, but part of her wished he didn’t feel like he needed to be quite so independent.

At the table, he sat across from her. “Sorry. ’Bout earlier. ’Twas rude.”

Apologies were hard for Jask apparently. The words came out like a bull through a buttonhole. She just wished she knew what he was apologizing for.

Marigold raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“I said little when I should have been thanking you for preparing the midday meal.” He dipped his spoon in the bowl. “Thank you for then, and now. It turned out well.”

His words made her feel taller, somehow.

“Thank you. I like it, too.” She dragged her bottom lip between her teeth. “And thank you for the apology, but there’s honestly no need. You ripped a hole in your palm. I assumed you were in pain and grumpy.”

He sipped his drink. “That’s generous of you.”

“I’m nothing if not a benevolent ruler.” She spooned another bite of the vegetable, barley, and bean stew that tasted more delicious for having made it herself. “Now back to my bath?”

“I’m thick for not thinking of it earlier, but you could use the laundry tub. Not as nice as a royal copper, I’m sure, but it’s large enough and worn smooth.”

“Jask, I will bathe in a rusty bucket if it comes down to it.” She pushed back from the table. “I’ll put a kettle on to boil for the bath.”

“This’ll take more than a kettle—the two large pots are better. Before you do that, though . . .” He topped her hand with his. “I need your help.”

Delight sizzled through her. At his touch or his admission, she wasn’t sure. No, she was sure—it was both. But mostly the large, warm touching.

“I’m at your service.”

“Can you minimize yourself and the tub? I’m leery of magic, but it’ll save water and you have command of your power, so it seems safe. And I shouldn’t carry anything that heavy.”

She might melt with all these compliments.

“It’s safe, I swear.” She clapped. “But I’d prefer not to minimize myself. It gives me the heaves. A reasonable trade in an emergency, but for a bath, not so much.”

He held up his hand. “I didn’t realize. Full-size, then.”

“I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to this.”

He tore the bread and dredged it through the last of his pottage. “I thought you might. We’ll fetch the tub after supper.”

She shoveled food into her mouth, tossing her robust etiquette training out the window. The sooner they finished their meal, the sooner she could set up a bath. This morning’s basic washing and change of linens was nowhere near enough to remove the grime she’d accumulated during her trek through the darkened wood. After the fastest meal of her life, she put the pots on to boil while Jask lit a lantern.

“It’s so nice out,” Marigold said as she opened the back door to the cool night. No cloak required yet, but the bite in the air was sharper than it had been during the day. “Ooh, the fox!”

The small creature’s paws blurred as it skittered across the courtyard. He paused to look at them, then sniffed the air. Oh, sweet mercy, he was the most adorable thing.

“Clear out!” Jask roared, making both Marigold and the fox jump.

The fox disappeared into the shadows, and her heart threatened to burst through her ribs. “That was unnecessary.”

“Unnecessary till you find a pile of feathers instead of Primrose, Heather, Daffodil, or Bluebell.”

“Did you . . .” Her laugh caught Barnaby’s attention. “Did you name your chickens after flowers?”

Jask checked the latches on the chicken yard. “I like flower names.”