Away With the Fairies (The Swallow Barn Cottage Series, Book 2)

High Spirits

"I think I saw some bandages in the bathroom," he said. "Press it tightly."

He left the kitchen, and Fiona lifted the edge of the towel to see the cut. It wasn't particularly deep, but it was long and crossed her Mount of Venus. She wiped the blood and turned on water in the sink. She stuck the hand under it, hissing, and grinding her teeth. The water ran pink, and she scrunched her face in disgust.

He was back, and she started drying the hand with a towel.

"There's a surgery in the next village," he said. "Dr. Fenton."

"It's alright, I don't need stitches," she dismissed. "I'm an expert on these," she said with an awkward laugh. "See?" She lifted her arms and showed him the back of her left forearm. The scar there was about ten centimetres long. "I slipped in the walk-in freezer, and sliced my arm on a metal crate. Could you please take out the potatoes? I'll wait."

His eyebrows jumped up just a tinge.

"They'll overcook and won't crisp up," she said. "There's the skimmer there. Just scoop them out and put them in the bowl with the flour."

He looked where she was pointing.

"The spoon with holes," Fiona tried again.

He chuckled. That's a surprisingly warm and velvet sound.

"Alright, but keep pressing on your cut," he said.

"It's definitely easier for you," she said a few seconds later and craned her neck to see how he was doing. "I've chosen a pot that's too tall."

He threw her a quick look from under a slightly raised eyebrow and continued fishing out the potato slices.

"Did you happen to see any gloves in the medicine cabinet?" she asked.

Her blood was soaking through the towel, and she quickly shifted it, pressing a clean corner into her palm.

"Gloves?" he asked.

When he was focusing, he pursed his lips. The perpetual crinkle between his eyebrows grew deeper, but once she started getting used to his face - or more precisely, to this version of the face - she started realising the frown wasn't directed at her. At least not always.

"Yeah, I can't cook with open bandages," she said. "And I still need to cut the fish."

"You're planning to cook fish and chips with a cut hand," he drew out.

Does the man know how to ask a question? Fiona thought in amusement.

"Well, as long as I'm wearing a glove, it'll be safe," she said with a shrug. "Ooph, I'm starving. And the smell of blood is making me feel dicky. Do we have anything to snack on?"

"There are biscuits in the tin," he said and put down the skimmer.

"I don't like sweets," Fiona answered distractedly and stepped to him.

He organised a bandage, a bottle of saline solution, a sterile pad, and a plaster on the counter. She imagined that's how surgeons prepared for an operation.

"Blimey, it's like a Piet Mondrian painting," she giggled. "And you can't use the plaster. I'm allergic to the sticky parts."

"Lift your hands over your head," he said and quickly looked at the clock on the wall. "If the bleeding doesn't stop in six minutes, we're going to Dr. Fenton."

He put the plaster back in the medicine box, and took out a roll of bandages. He looked at her, and she lowered her hands and stretched them to him.