For Me,There Is Only You |18+|

68. The Cryptic Conversation

With a plate full of pink fruit, slippery slices of prickly pear, and neatly cubed dragon fruit, I sat cross-legged beside Grandma on the living room floor.

The morning light filtered through the gauzy curtains, casting soft, lazy patterns across the rug.

We'd been chatting about everything and nothing—weather, village gossip, and whether sesame or olive oil made the flakiest flatbread.

It was slow, warm, and comfortable.

Until a sudden burst of noise from the front door broke through our conversation.

Grandma gave me a knowing look, amusement tugging at the corners of her mouth and crinkling the soft skin beside her eyes.

"Looks like they went on a shopping spree," she murmured, clearly trying not to laugh.

I followed her gaze—just in time to see Ansel and his grandfather swagger in with the kind of dramatic flair that made it seem like they'd just returned from a months-long expedition instead of the local market.

They dropped their bags onto the low table in front of us with theatrical grunts.

Ansel's hair was wind-tossed in a way that definitely wasn't fair for this early in the day, and his grey tunic clung a little too well to his shoulders.

Grandpa looked equally smug in a black tunic and beige trousers, the two of them standing side-by-side like Emberreach's unofficial modeling duo.

Ansel strode over and handed me one of the bags with a maddeningly casual, "For you, amina. Thought you might need a few things while we're here."

I blinked, peeking inside.

Clothes. Lightweight silks and soft cottons dyed in sun-warmed tones I would've loved from afar but never actually picked out for myself.

Meanwhile, Grandpa had taken it upon himself to give a live demonstration of their loot.

With the enthusiasm of a man hosting his own food network segment, he began pulling out various bundles and boxes and lining them up on the table.

"These," he declared, holding up a glossy box for me, "are Emberreach spice rolls. You'll want to eat them warm. And this—" he unwrapped a packet with all the flourish of a magician revealing a trick, "sun-dried cactus chips. Salty. Surprisingly addictive. Don't be scared."

I took both from his hands, eyebrows lifting.

The chips looked...aggressively crisp.

The spice rolls, though, smelled like cinnamon had a love affair with cardamom and they decided to ruin lives together.

I glanced at the rest of the bags still waiting to be opened.

"Did you two buy the whole town?"

Ansel dropped down beside me, his leg brushing against mine with deliberate ease.

"No. Just the edible parts."

Grandma let out a warm laugh as she crouched beside Grandpa, helping him unpack what still looked like an endless supply of loot.

He was pulling out parcels wrapped in brown paper, tins tied with string, and a suspicious number of oddly-shaped sweets—half of which looked like they belonged in a museum, the other half like they were designed to rot teeth in the most charming way possible.

"These are from the southern stalls," Grandpa said, lining them up with the precision of a proud curator. "Only sold during the Emberreach moon. Real tradition."