Chapter 18 Eighteen
Fianna.
I yawned so wide my jaw cracked, stretching my arms overhead as I shuffled into the kitchen. The scent hit me first, warm, earthy potatoes fresh from the oven, mingled with hints of garlic and herbs that made my stomach rumble despite the early evening hour.
Tara was there, Kian’s caretaker and chef extraordinaire, pulling a tray of golden, crispy spuds from the oven with practiced ease. Her apron was dusted with flour, and she hummed softly under her breath, a tune I didn’t recognize but that sounded comforting, like something from an old radio.
She glanced up as I approached, her round face breaking into a genuine smile. “Evening, Fianna. Sleep well?”
“Mrs. Tara,” I said, leaning against the counter, my voice still thick with the remnants of my nap. “Those smell incredible.”
She set the tray down and wiped her hands on a dish towel. “Just Tara, dear. I’ve told you before, that there was no need for the ‘Mrs.’ It makes me feel ancient.”
I nodded, hopping up onto the stool next to the counter, my legs dangling like a kid’s. “Fine, Tara. How do you do it? Cooking all this stuff, and in huge batches for occasions like tonight? Doesn’t it drive you nuts?”
She giggled, a light, bubbly sound that seemed to fill the kitchen, and went back to poking at the potatoes with a fork, testing their doneness. “It’s all in the heart, Fianna. You either love it or you learn to love it. Once you get the rhythm, it’s like therapy. Chopping, stirring, tasting. It’s clears the mind.”
I watched her work, the way her hands moved with such confidence, slicing a potato open and sprinkling just the right amount of salt. “I don’t think cooking will ever be for me. Too stressful. Too many steps, measurements, timings. One wrong move and bam! disaster on a plate.”
Tara scooped a small piece of potato onto a fork and held it out to me, steam curling up invitingly. “Here, taste this. Tell me if it’s got enough butter.”
I leaned forward and took the bite. Oh God. It melted on my tongue. So fluffy inside, crispy edges, and bursting with flavor. I moaned involuntarily, closing my eyes for a second.
“Tara, that’s… wow. Heaven. How are you so perfect at this?”
She beamed, clearly pleased. “Practice, mostly. But there will come a time when you might want to try it yourself. Maybe some motivation sneaks up on you. A craving, a special occasion… or a lover who loves a home-cooked meal?”
I scoffed so loudly it echoed off the cabinets. “A lover? Please. That could be literally anything else but that. I’m not whipping up gourmet dinners for some guy who’s probably not worth the burned fingers.”
Tara chuckled, turning back to her work, but she shot me a knowing side-eye. “Never say never, dear.”
I stole another bite of potato from the tray when she wasn’t looking, savoring the warmth. “Seriously, though, how did you get this good? Lessons? Books? Some fancy culinary school?”
She paused, her expression softening as she stirred a pot of soup simmering on the stove, making my mouth water all over again. “Surprisingly, I taught myself. My mother wasn’t much for the kitchen; she preferred takeout or simple sandwiches. I didn’t know a thing about cooking until I was older. Then I met a man who loved to eat really big, hearty meals every night. I wanted to make him happy, you know? So I started experimenting. Trial and error, mostly. Burned a lot of pots along the way.”
I raised my eyebrows, leaning in. “Wow. That’s… kind of romantic, in a twisted way.”
Tara laughed, but there was a hint of sadness in it. “Well, I divorced him eventually. It turned out he was violent. His hands were like hammers when he got angry.”
My stomach twisted. “I’m so sorry, Tara. That sounds awful.”
She waved it away with her towel, like swatting a fly. “It’s fine now. Water under the bridge. But even after he was gone, cooking stuck with me. It became my passion. And now, it’s how I pay the bills. Funny how life turns things around, isn’t it?”
I nodded slowly, absorbing that. “Yeah. That’s great, though—turning something bad into your thing. I admire that.”
Tara smiled warmly, checking the soup’s consistency with a spoon. “You should do the same, Fianna. Whatever makes you genuinely happy, do it for you, not for anyone else. But in a relationship? Compromising isn’t the end of the world. It’s fair, as long as it’s mutual.”
I stared at her, tilting my head. “Why are you being so kind to me, Tara? Like, really kind. Not just polite.”
Her eyes widened, spoon pausing mid-stir. “Am I not supposed to be kind? Did I miss something?”
I shook my head quickly. “No, it’s not that. Just… People don’t like me much. I get it. I’ve got a reputation for being rude and all. But you… you’re different.”
Tara set the spoon down and turned to face me fully, her expression soft. “I don’t know why others feel that way, but I see you, Fianna. You’re soft at heart, deep down. We all have scars. Things that happened to us that make us tougher on the outside. Or softer, depending. But I think you’re one of the good ones.”
Warmth bloomed in my chest, unexpected and a little uncomfortable. “You are such a darling, Tara. How did Kian even find you?”
She laughed as she returned to the soup, giving it a final stir. “Oh, that’s a story. I was working at this little restaurant downtown, nothing fancy, just good home cooking. One night, he came in, looking like he had a rough day. Ordered everything on the specials board. Next thing I know, he’s offering me a job cooking for him weekly. And I landed in this fancy kitchen, and here I am.”
“Wow,” I said, genuinely impressed. “That’s nice. How’s he been, anyway? As a boss, I mean.”
Tara arched an eyebrow, a teasing glint in her eye. “Why do you want to know?”
I scoffed, feeling my cheeks heat up a little. “Just curious! Not like I’m dying to hear about him or anything.”
She laughed again, that warm sound filling the space. “It’s fine, dear. Everyone knows Kian’s brooding side, that’s how he was when he hired me. All business, no chit-chat. But he’s a good man underneath. Protects his people fiercely, helps when it counts. He’s just… there, you know? Not one for showing emotions.”
I nodded, tracing patterns on the counter with my finger. “Fair enough. Nothing extraordinary. I’m not sure that man’s even capable of emotions anymore.”
Tara sighed, turning off the stove. “I believe I will see him express a lot one day. I’m waiting for it.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “Don’t hold your breath, Tara.”
Glancing at the clock, I realized the time was slipping away. My family will be here soon. Grandfather, Ronan, Caleb. The thought sent a mix of excitement and dread twisting in my gut. I pulled out my phone, staring at Kian’s contact.
Did I need to remind him? Part of me hated that I even cared. He was acting like this dinner was some massive deal, like I was dragging him into it against his will. But the other part… Well, I didn’t want things to blow up if he missed it.
I typed quickly: “Hey. It’s almost time.”
Sent.
I set the phone down and hopped off the stool. “Need help with the table?”
Tara looked surprised but pleased. “If you would like. Plates and cutlery are in that cabinet.”
I grabbed a stack of plates, the porcelain cool and smooth under my fingers. Call me spoiled, but I had never done this before. setting a table for guests. Servants or staff had always handled it back home. No urge, no need. But here? With Tara’s easy kindness? It felt… nice. Almost normal.
She was the first person in ages who had been genuinely nice to me without an agenda. Except for Isla, my fluffy best friend.
My phone pinged loudly.
I abandoned the plates mid-stack and darted to the couch where I left it. Kian’s reply glowed on the screen.
“Okay.”
Just that. One word. No explanation for why he was running late, no “be there soon,” nothing. Fuck. It felt rude, dismissive. Like I wasn’t worth more than two syllables.
I shoved the phone in my pocket and headed to my room to change. A simple short black gown, fitted but not too flashy, paired with a delicate necklace that caught the light just right. I ran a brush through my hair, letting it fall in loose waves, and swiped on a bit of lip gloss. There. Beautiful.
Fifteen minutes later, the doorbell rang.
I stepped out of my room just as Tara opened the door. Grandfather first, stooped but still imposing, his cane tapping the floor. Then Ronan, smirking as always. And… Caleb.
My eyes lit up. “Caleb!”
Without thinking, I launched myself at him. He caught me easily, his strong arms wrapping around my waist as I buried my face in his shoulder. He smelled like leather and faint cologne. It was familiar, and safe. He kissed my hair once, twice, three times, holding me tight.
Tears pricked my eyes. God, I missed him. Caleb wasn’t easy to pin down. He was always off on some shadowy job, gone for months at a time. Seeing him here? It hit harder than I expected.
Grandfather cleared his throat loudly.
I pulled back, wiping my eyes quickly, and glared at the old man. “Jealous now?”
He grunted, but his eyes twinkled. “Come here, girl.”
I hugged him tightly, breathing in the scent of pipe tobacco and old wool. “How have you been?”
We kissed cheeks, left, right, like always. “Fine. But the house is too quiet without its sunshine.”
Ronan scoffed from behind. “Sunshine? Please. More like a storm cloud.”
I hit his arm, and stuck out my tongue. “Not hugging you, then.”
He shrugged, unbothered, and strolled into the living room like he owned the place. “Your loss.”
I grabbed Caleb’s hand in one and Grandfather’s in the other, leading them to the couches. “Sit, sit. Make yourselves comfortable.”
Tara appeared then, smiling warmly. “Gentlemen, can I get you refreshments? Water? Wine? Something before dinner?”
The three of them just… stared. Brooding, silent stares that could make someone cry.
I shook my head, frustrated. “Tara, don’t worry about it. They’re fine. Thank you.”
She nodded gracefully and retreated to the kitchen.
Ronan leaned back, crossing his arms. “Who’s the lady?”
I plopped down onto Caleb’s lap without asking, he didn’t mind, and wrapped an arm around his neck. “Our chef. She’s amazing.”
Caleb’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t push me off. I leaned in close, whispering. “Not happy to see me?”
He snapped his gaze to mine. That look. I knew it well. It was like he was saying: That’s bullshit.
I pouted. “It’s been forever since I’ve seen you, and you’re going silent on me?”
He grunted, low, and almost inaudible, then whispered back, his voice rough from disuse. “Why the fuck did you get engaged?”
Grandfather’s cane thumped the floor. “She got engaged because she’s old enough. And she loves Kian.”
Ronan chuckled darkly. “Sure she does.”
I shot them both a glare. “Don’t start, please.”
Leaning back to Caleb, I whispered, “Things are fine. Don’t worry.”
He didn’t respond, just held my gaze, like he was searching, skeptical.
No way could I tell him the truth. Caleb didn’t know the full history with Kian; he was never around long enough to catch the details. And if he did? He would probably snap angrily
Grandfather shifted, his voice gruff. “Where’s the boy? Why isn’t he here?”
I sighed inwardly. I’m going to murder Kian. I opened my mouth to make an excuse. Work, traffic, whatever—when the door creaked open.
Kian stepped in.
Wow.
He looked… cleaned up. Black shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms showing off those tattoos, tailored pants hugging his legs just right. Like he had come from a photoshoot or a wedding. Freshly shaved, hair styled back.
The room went dead silent.
Our eyes met. Something flickered there, it was intense, unreadable.
Then he narrowed his gaze at Caleb. At me on Caleb’s lap.
What now?
He cleared his throat and nodded at my grandfather. “Callahan.”
The old man just stared back, sizing him up.
God, the awkwardness was thick enough to choke on.
I jumped up quickly. “Okay, let’s move to the dining table. Food’s ready to be served.”
Ronan helped Grandfather stand, and we all shuffled toward the table. But I could feel Kian’s eyes burning into my back.
Then his voice, low and commanding. “Fianna. Come here.”