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

Fiona Takes Some Heat

At some point he got up and left, but she was too busy scraping off the masking liquid to pay attention.

"Lunch's ready," he called to her from the kitchen some time later.

She looked up from the painting. Returning to reality always felt like resurfacing in a lake or a river. Somehow it always made her skin flush and her cheeks burn. It's just something to do with your blood circulation. You and your daft fantasies. She threw a wistful look at the unfinished part - that spriggan needed more shading on its cheekbone - and put her brush aside.

She sat down at the table, and he put a plate in front of her. 

She looked down and snorted, "That's definitely not an Operational Ration Pack."

She picked up the stuffed pita and sank her teeth in it. Oh god, so good! There were fresh vegetables, falafel, and some sort of a spicy aromatic sauce inside. Fiona as much as purred in pleasure.

"That's the only dish I can cook," he said and sat down. "It'll get boring soon."

Fiona hummed in protest and shook her head.

"No, it won't," she mumbled, with food behind her cheek. She chewed and swallowed. "It's amazing!"

She bit into the pita again and did a little happy shimmy on her seat - and then she saw he still hadn't started eating and was watching her instead.

"What?" she asked. "Do I have sauce on my face?" You probably do, considering your enthusiasm. Eating like a stray cat again, are we, Fiona?

"No," he said and picked up his pita. "Just paint."

"Oh," she exhaled in embarrassment. "I chew the other end of the brush– and sometimes there are splashes–"

She stopped her daft mumbling because he was watching her attentively, and she hid behind her pita. Also, she properly needed to stop staring at him when he ate. The movement of his jaw, his neck, his large hands - everything fascinated her. Somehow she just couldn't stop noticing, and then immediately comparing him to Nate - and somehow Nate didn't do well in this comparison. Shame on you, Fiona. Shame was exactly the word, wasn't it? It spilled inside, like a heartburn, and she swallowed her food with difficulty.

"Have I now got some sauce on my face?" he asked, and she laughed nervously.

"No, no, you don't." She shook her head and dropped her eyes to the table.

Just. Stop. Looking. You're forced to cohabitate with the man - and you know you can never stop yourself from ogling other men - of course you notice things. It doesn't mean you're allowed to linger. There's just one step from watching him for too long - to those dreams you get. And then...

He wiped his mouth and hands with a napkin and rose.

"Do you want coffee?"

"Coffee?" she asked in a lost voice.

"Old habits," he said and opened the tea cabinet. "Always coffee after a meal."

Fiona continued watching him confused.

"Oh, that's what it is! That pot!" she exclaimed when he pulled out what looked like a prop from a film about Aladdin or Scheherazade.

It was bulbous at the bottom and had an elegant narrow neck. The spout was long, and it had a curved handle. It looked old and was somewhat battered, with a couple of small dents on one side. Definitely not a prop.

"It's a dallah," he said.

He poured boiling water in the dallah without measuring and opened a tin he'd picked up from the shelf. Fiona's nose caught the smell of coffee and spices. She slightly rose on the chair to see what he was doing.