Since Esmera was abandoned on a stranger's doorstep as a baby, the only person who has looked out for her is herself.
Until a lark starts visiting her, leaving behind exotic flowers and iridescent pebbles that the internet doesn't recognise.
Esmera...
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"Esmera, there's something I need to tell you," said Tauram as he stood in front of the fridge, holding the door open. His white shirt's sleeves were rolled up in that distracting way, but Esmera somehow managed to tear her eyes from his forearms and bring them to his face.
Her heart jumped into her throat at the sight of his solemnity. What was he going to say? Did it have anything to do with Esmera? With what Nuredir had told them about themselves today?
She gazed at Tauram, thinking how unfair it was of the icy fridge light to cast his cheekbones in such a favourable light, to glint off that pesky lock of black hair that kept falling over his forehead.
She shouldn't be thinking about how beautiful he was, not on a night like this, not after the day they had endured together, so she pushed the thought out of her mind. "Yeah?" she asked, cantering her focus on his nose, the least distracting part of him.
His eyes quickly drew her gaze back to them as they rested on her. "I know I promised you dinner, but..." —he gave a theatrical sigh— "there is no dinner."
"What do you mean?" Esmera scurried across the kitchen to him, frowning.
He stepped aside, gesturing at the inside of the fridge with a graceful hand. "I mean that there aren't any leftovers, and our cook has very callously abandoned us to go on a dinner date, in case you had forgotten."
Still frowning, Esmera peeked at the cold innards of the fridge. Sure, the shelves were empty of little bowls of curry, and those amazing momos Belaren had made were long finished, but there were ingredients to make something simple.
She looked back up at Tauram, who was studying her intently, expectantly, as if he was hoping she would conjure food up from somewhere. "Surely we can just cook something."
A smirk pulled at Tauram's mouth. Esmera elbowed him, even as she couldn't look away from him.
"Can you be serious for just one moment? We need food."
His face smoothed out with a solemn look that Esmera knew was mock serious. She had spent enough time with him to recognise it.
"I am always serious, Esmera, especially when it comes to food."
She rolled her eyes. She could name many instances where he was the opposite of serious. He was annoying and infuriating, and she shouldn't be at all amused by him, but she somehow was.
"Then how about you get serious about making some food?" She folded her arms over her chest, holding his gaze.
"I can't because I have a confession." He reached out for one of Esmera's curls mindlessly, twisting it around his finger as silence settled between them. Then, as if just remembering he was supposed to be speaking, Tauram cleared his throat. "I can't cook."
"So, let me get this straight." She blinked at him, pretending to ignore his hand as he withdrew it even as she was aware of little else. "You're a fully grown adult, and you can't cook? How did you survive all these years?"
