“There is something shady between us,” she reminded him in a soft tone. “We have to hide it from the villagers and the demons in your castle.”
“Morgan and Sheena know. Jocelyn as well, obviously. And the slayers, I suspect, since they patrol the area and have likely seen my horse.”
“Michael knows too.”
“Well then. It’s hardly a secret, is it?” He took her hand and led her to the other room.
“It should be, beyond the people who are currently in the know.”
Gently clasping her upper arms, his head bent and he kissed her. Then he said, “I don’t really give a damn who finds out about us.”
She sighed. “But you should.”
He groaned, yet conceded the point. “Yes, I should.” He released her and added, “Settle at the table. I brought dinner.”
“Please, no more soup. I can make my own food.”
“I thought you liked the soup,” he called from her small kitchen.
“I love the soup. But that’s all I’ve been able to eat, because even chewing has been a chore.”
“You’re in luck,” he told her as he returned. A savory aroma instantly permeated the room, making her stomach growl. On the dining table, he deposited two plates, both piled high with thick slices of glazed ham, mashed potatoes with gravy and stuffing. He added, “A belated Thanksgiving meal, compliments of my chef.”
He disappeared for a few seconds and came back with utensils, napkins, a bottle of merlot and two glasses. After arranging everything, he poured the wine.
Sliding onto a chair opposite her, he lifted his glass and said, “A toast to the season.”
She smiled as their rims touched. “How funny. I was just asking Sheena earlier if demons recognized holidays.”
“Not so much. But I realized you ought to.”
Jade shook her head. “There’s hardly a point to it. Like my birthday, holidays are meant to be shared with family.”
He regarded her for a moment, then said, “But your friends are your family.”
She thought of the multitude of dinner and party offers she’d received over the years for the major holidays. None of which she’d accepted. She’d always preferred to be alone or work at the tavern. It didn’t seem right to celebrate without her parents and what good would it do anyway?
Except…Darien made a valid argument.
“I suppose I’ve been narrow-minded,” she admitted. “Selfish even. Perhaps a tiny bit martyr-ish as well.” She picked at her food. It smelled heavenly and looked delicious, but something suddenly weighed heavy on her mind. “I’ve always thought it was easier to ignore any sort of tradition I’d shared with my parents, but the fact is, I’ve only isolated myself further by doing this.”
She paused and inhaled the rich scent of an apple cider, butter and sugar coating on the ham that was mouthwatering, and took in the entire cozy atmosphere of the cottage and Darien sitting at the table with her, sipping his wine. A long-forgotten sense of belonging and the feeling of being a part of a family ribboned through her.
Tears suddenly prickled her eyes. “I have to confess. I made my life miserable.”
“You can’t place all the blame at your feet.”
“My parents’ deaths were tragic, yes. But people die. Even Michael’s parents have passed. Lisette’s husband. Jinx. Many others I’ve known in my lifetime. And with each death, it seems as though I withdraw a little more into myself.” She found this ironic. “I’m the one who insisted death is part of the human experience. Nothing to obsess over because it’s a natural progression in life.”
She remembered having the conversation with Darien right here in her cottage.
“But the truth is,” she continued, “it jars me every time it happens to someone I know. So why aren’t I enjoying the time I have with the people I care about?”
“Fear of attachment?”
A shiver of reckoning chased down her spine. She took a healthy drink from her glass. Then another.
Setting the wine aside, her gaze locked with his and she said, “I’ve shared more of myself with you and Sheena—possibly even Morgan—than I ever have with my two closest human friends. And as for the other villagers… I consider them friends, of course. Neighbors. People I care about and have a natural concern for, but whom I keep a measure of distance from—emotionally.”