When We Met

CH 34 Logan

The predawn stillness was a welcome reprieve as I made my way through the hushed corridors towards the kitchen wing. Despite the early hour, I knew the staff would already be up and about their preparations for the day ahead.

My meandering path took me past the dimly lit family dining room, a fleeting glance through the arched doorway revealing the long table set with precise care. The rhythmic clatter of pots and pans reached my ears before I rounded the final corner into the spacious kitchen itself.

And there she was.

Roalsine stood before the massive wood-fired oven, russet tresses tamed into a loose knot at the nape of her neck yet still managing to appear elegantly disheveled. My breath hitched momentarily at the sight of her hips gently swaying in time to the crooning melodies drifting from the radio perched atop the counter.

A dusting of flour smudged one tanned cheek, yet it only enhanced her unvarnished beauty in that moment an untamed wildflower defiantly blooming amid this environment of cultivated decadence. Watching her deft hands work the dough with a practiced confidence, I felt an unexpected pang in my chest.

How could a woman of such innate strength and pride find herself shackled to these debasing circumstances?

The errant thought gave me pause, an unaccustomed stirring of conscience niggling beneath my defensive layers of rationalisation. I was no besotted fool, desperately deluding myself about the Frontera clan's purpose in infiltrating our compound. They were playing an insidiously long game, gambling that we would eventually grow unwary of their embedded forces within our ranks.

Yet in that fleeting, soft-lit moment, a part of me couldn't help but appreciate the simple artistry and contentment Roalsine seemed to exude. As though this modest kitchen had become her temporary sanctuary where she could briefly forget the escalating deceptions transpiring on both sides.

Before I could dwell further on that perilous trail of thought, she sensed my presence and pivoted towards me with that uncannily feline grace. One hand went to her canted hip as she pinned me with those kaleidoscope eyes equally capable of a molten, soul-scorching heat as flashing with icy disdain.

"You're up with the dawn, señor," she observed, holding my stare in that subtly challenging way of hers. The Spanish endearment seemed to drip with faint mockery from those full lips.

Rallying my metaphorical defences, I met that inscrutably pointed look with one of studied nonchalance. "Couldn't sleep. And it appears I'm not the only restless soul roaming at this hour."

Those lush lips twitched with the ghost of a sardonic smile. "You assume I require much sleep? Or perhaps the aromas roused me from slumber."

With a graceful twist, she turned back towards the oven, deftly extracting a tray laden with what appeared to be freshly baked bread rolls. The yeasty fragrance wafted across the kitchen, setting my mouth watering despite myself.

"In any case, I took the liberty of preparing a few things," Roalsine went on in a tone of studied neutrality, arranging the golden rolls on a linen cloth. "I imagine even the great Logan Walsh needs sustenance on occasion."

That hint of challenge darkened her husky tone anew, daring me to react defensively - to feign offence and remind her just who precisely held the upper hand in this precarious situation. But something more potent than mere bravado stilled the reflexive words before they could form.

Instead, I found myself crossing the kitchen until I stood opposite her, inhaling the tantalisingly simple scent of baked bread and appreciating the way the soft lighting gilded the slender column of her neck, the elegant curve of her jaw. My eyes roamed over those familiar, beloved features as if seeing them anew in that moment.

"You imagined correctly," I said at length, holding her inquisitive stare with one of resolute openness. "I was raised never to turn aside simple generosity...no matter the source."

Her throat worked minutely on a swallow, dark eyes searching my face - no doubt seeking any hint of duplicity or agenda in my words. Instead she seemed to find only my plain sincerity, for some of the wariness eased from her bearing after a moment.

"Well then," she said, arranging a few rolls on a small china plate and extending it towards me with a tilt of her chin. "Eat up, señor. Before they cool and grow stale, and choke you while you swallow."

The ghost of a genuine smile played about the corners of her mouth as I accepted the plate, our fingers brushing momentarily in the transferral. A subtle frisson of awareness sparked between us, like call igniting to inevitably answering response. I watched her throat bob once more, those entrancing eyes pulling inexorably towards mine as the moment stretched taut.

With a monumental force of will, I found my voice once more - rougher than intended. "My thanks."

Then I turned and strode from the kitchen, rolls in hand and a strange new ache settling into my very marrow.

Over the ensuing hours, I endured a perfunctory meeting with Noah where we once again reaffirmed the integrity of our admittedly tenuous position. He filled me in on the latest strategic murmurings from Father's sycophants while I marshalled my arguments for accelerating the timeline to the next stage of our stratagem.

All the while, memories of that dimly lit kitchen persisted in flickering through my consciousness - a lush sensory tapestry of Roalsine's scent and form, the melodious lilt of her voice, her implacable spirit chafing at its gilded cage. Despite my most stringent efforts, I couldn't quite dismiss the unexpected longing to be back amid those earthier surroundings she seemed to catalyse.

All the while, memories of that dimly lit kitchen persisted in flickering through my consciousness a lush sensory tapestry of Roalsine's scent and form, the melodious lilt of her voice, her implacable spirit chafing at its gilded cage. Despite my most stringent efforts, I couldn't quite dismiss the unexpected longing to be back amid those earthier surroundings she seemed to catalyse.

Noah's words took on a scrutinising edge after a spell, no doubt registering my distraction. "You seem unnerved by something, brother. All proceeds according to father's plan thus far, yes?"

Mustering my unshakable control, I flexed my fingers against the solid oak desk between us. "Of course. But you and know as well as I that the next phase will require...sensitive manoeuvring and I don't necessarily stomach such things."

One sandy brow inched fractionally higher in a subtle tell of muted disbelief. Still, Noah inclined his chin in a show of measured concession after a beat. "Just ensure your focus remains undivided on the endgame. Father grows more erratic and emboldened the longer this plays out he might get suspicious of your intentions, and it does look like you are elongating the plans brother."

The words rang with truth, for I'd witnessed our progenitor's downward spiral myself. Where once the man exhibited the coldblooded calculation of a grandmaster presiding over his personal empire, now mere vestiges of hollow lucidity endured between the bouts of mercurial, vengeful mania.

It was that chilling dissolution underpinning the urgency of our present course - to undermine the Hecter Cartel's defences from within before the last vestiges of Father's rationality fully disintegrated. Even if I could no longer fully discern the roadmap ahead, the imperative remained etched in immutable stone.