The Sun in the West

Chapter 6

Stella splashed cold water onto her face, looking up with bleary eyes at the bathroom mirror.

Her reflection was not one she loved to look at, no matter the beauty others always told her she had. She had undid her hair carefully after she had woken up, brushing it with a comb she had found in one of the bathroom drawers. Now it draped sleek and shiny down her back, reaching to her lower back. She squinted as the water in her eyes passed, stinging for a moment before she could look at herself again.

Her eyes were blue. Blue, bright blue. Like the oceans of a tropical paradise. Her father and elder brother had the same, while her mother ravished in simple brown. She examined herself, rubbing the small towel in her hands slowly across her face. Her high cheekbones shone in the bright bathroom light, making her face seem all of a sudden angelic and glowing.

Stella sighed, dropping the towel onto a rack beside her. She looked herself up and down once more in the mirror. She had changed out of her blue dress and into one of Kit's old robes she was sure he wasn't using anymore. She felt herself flush. It was slightly larger in size, as it appealed more to a man than a woman, yet it was soft and white, comforting and made with silken material.

She really hoped he wouldn't mind.. she was getting new clothes tomorrow anyway.

The robe was open slightly at the bust. Whatever she did failed her attempts of hiding her chest completely. Although it wasn't showing much, she felt quite uneasy as the tops of her breasts were uncovered just barely, and her collar was on show altogether. But it will have to do for now, she would ask if he still had her old robes later.

The silk tie was tight around her waist, and she wore no trousers, just undergarments. As the robe reached nearly to her knees, she had not much reason to wear any.

Stella squared her shoulders and took a deep, yet tender breath before twisting the doorknob and making her way out of Kit's bedroom. She walked out the door and into the hallway, stepping carefully down the stairs. The gentle thumps of her feet echoed through her delicate ears until she made it to ground floor.

At once, tears filled her vision, causing her to blink furiously.

A burning sensation met her blue orbs, and with her fingers, she gently dabbed at the corners of her eyes, preventing the water flow. A scent was in the air, and she sniffed gingerly. Onion?

She let go of the stairway railing and turned, stepping into the kitchen. There was Kit, with his hat off and hair tied back, behind the kitchen island. A knife was in his hands and tears glistened in his eyes as he chopped into a large onion on a countertop chopping board. Stella watched curiously from the kitchen doorway as he took a second to blink a few times and carefully wipe his eyes with his sleeve, before getting back to onion cutting.

He hadn't noticed her yet, so she took the time to observe him quietly. Kit had taken off his father's coat, leaving him in a thin white shirt that allowed one to see the muscles of his body flex with every movement. Stella flushed slightly and looked away, just as her husband spotted her.

"Oh, hey Stella." he said, giving her a half-smile as he rubbed his eye again. "Did you sleep well?"

Stella ignored his question, astounded. "What are you doing?" she asked. As far as she knew, Kit didn't know how to chop onions.

Kit blinked, seeming to not have heard her immediately. He had just realized what Stella was wearing at the moment, and his cheeks visibly colored. "Just.. choppin' onions." he then murmured, looking up into her eyes before turning back to the knife in his hand. Stella looked down at herself. Kit had noticed she was wearing his robe. She sighed, gently gathering her long hair to rest over her shoulders as she leaned against the doorway.

"I hope you don't mind. I couldn't find my old robes." She said plainly. Kit peered back up at her. The blush on his cheeks was now replaced with an even softer shade of pink. He placed the knife down and smoothed the onion bits to one side of the chopping the board. "Of course not, Stella." he said gently. "Don't worry, I wasn't usin' that one, and your old robes are in the closet. I'll get 'em out for you after I'm done with this."

Stella walked forward until she was on the opposite side of the counter from him. She tilted her head at the chopped onions he had just finished. Her eyes still blurred from the stinging, but she could see he had diced them very nicely. She looked up at him suspiciously. "Since when have you known to cut onions like this?"

Kit was wiping his hands on a white kitchen towel beside him, and he seemed to be avoiding her eyes. He shrugged, but let out a small half-smile.

"Three years, maybe? I thought you'd like it if I learned how to do some of these things myself." he said sheepishly. Stella frowned at him as he still continued to not meet her eyes and folded the towel, hanging it limply over a drawer handle.

"Taught myself, or at least, tried to. I remembered how you used to do it before the.. um.. yeah...Besides, I wanted to make you some of that onion soup you liked."

Stella watched as he took out a small pot she hadn't seen from behind an ornate fruit basket full of bananas. He held it out to her in a way she could see the contents. Inside was a quarter full of oil and butter.

Stella looked down into the pot, then looked up at her spouse. "Don't you need help?" she asked plainly, not trusting him one bit with a pot, stove, and chopped onions. Kit's smile didn't disappear. "Nah." he said somewhat cheerily, turning and lifting up the chopping board. He swept all the onions into the pot with his fingers, and placed the small pot on top of the stove behind him. Stella watched as he turned the gas to a medium setting, and waited as the bubbles inside sizzled and popped from the impact.

A.. delicious smell arose about half a minute of patience. As Kit stirred it with a wooden spoon, Stella bit her lip. Her stomach was, unfortunately, beginning to realize there was food being made in the vicinity. She hadn't eaten anything since the morning's small cup of oranges offered on the train, which she had eaten quite hesitantly due to the smell. While in thought her stomach grumbled again, and Kit let out a small chuckle. "Hungry?" he asked in amusement. Stella flushed and didn't answer.

"Just.. let me know if you need help. I'll be in the sitting room." she said softly, giving her husband a long, thoughtful look before she turned on her heel. Kit hummed in response, now lost in his own world of cooking which Stella was not yet used to. It really was strange, coming back to a man who, at first, couldn't hold a knife properly without cutting himself to learn that he was probably cooking up gourmet dishes five years later.

Stella settled into an armchair, which was much too big for her thinning figure. It was definitely a size for a full grown man—the leather seat. Although Stella was above average in a woman's height, she wasn't very.. muscled. She snorted. Her mother would've flipped if Stella had a waist of more than twelve inches.

She leaned back, trying to relax. She breathed out through her mouth, letting go of the tight feeling in her chest. Her feet got caught in the soft rug below. That was new too.

There was a sudden rattle in the kitchen, allowing Stella to realize Kit was still in there. "Did you get enough rest?" he said, peeking his head out from the kitchen window. His hair was messy, flopping across his forehead as he leaned forward to look at her. "I bet the train ride was tirin'. You always did get grumpy when you were tired."

Kit laughed a little, turning his eyes back to his cooking. Stella gritted her teeth.

"Is that why you didn't come meet me at the station?"

There was silence. It was so quiet Stella could hear the faint sizzling of the soup cooking in its pot. She couldn't see it, but she knew Kit was now downcast. It didn't even matter, she thought. If he didn't want to come see me first, it was his decision. She crossed her legs, playing with her robe ties.

"Stella.. I—"

Ding Dong.

Both heads snapped to the door. Stella furrowed her brow at who it could be. She stood, mumbling that she would get it, and walked over to the front door. Gentle raps then echoed across the living room, and she took a gentle hold of the wooden door handle. The wood seemed to pulse beneath her skin, or it may would've just been that it was so old, and slowly coming apart.

She turned the handle, and revealed the man on the other side.

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