Knights of Winter: A contemporary reverse harem romance (Year of the Harem) by Kayla Wren

Author:Kayla Wren [Wren, Kayla]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Black Cherry Publishing
Published: 2020-12-10T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

“And you’re sure this is an appropriate apology gift?”

Annabelle pats my forearm, bare from my rolled sleeves, and leaves a floury hand print on my skin. I blow my bangs out of my eyes and work the rolling pin over the dough.

“Definitely. Everyone loves gingerbread.”

Well, that can’t be true. It’s messy and laborious and since my third piece of raw dough, I’ve started to feel sick. I gnaw on my bottom lip, wondering whether Morgan will view my apology cookies as another metaphorical slap in the face.

“And you’re certain—”

Annabelle cuts me off.

“Gigi. It will be fine. Even if the cookies suck, it’s the thought that counts.”

I sigh and nudge my glasses up my nose, no doubt leaving a smear of flour. The kitchens look like a wild animal rampaged through, what with the dirtied pots and pans stacked everywhere. While I’m sure there are efficient and clean ways of baking, this is a skill I have yet to master.

Annabelle seems to think that makes the gift even better. Apparently you must suffer for a proper apology.

She chuckles to herself as she collects sticky spoons in a bowl.

“I can’t believe you climbed in his lap.”

I close my eyes against the memory, humiliation prickling over my skin.

“I can’t believe I did any of it.”

Annabelle hums. “It was pretty badass, actually.”

I don’t know what she means, but I hardly think my ego needs further inflation. Rather than dig for compliments, I use the cookie cutter we scrounged up from the kitchen drawers to cut out eight little men.

It’s weird using flimsy bits of plastic in a kitchen that’s hundreds of years old. The castle has been updated over the years, wired for electricity and plumbed for running water, but it still messes with my brain to see a microwave perched on top of the old iron range.

You can still taste the smoke in the air. It’s embedded in the stone walls; stained right down to the mountainside. I suck in a deep breath and slide the baking sheet into the modern oven, my glasses fogging up.

“It’s a shame about this.” I straighten and tap my fingernail on the hob.

Annabelle snorts. “Would you rather bake them over an open flame?”

Yes, I think, even as reason reminds me that I struggled to switch the oven on.

“What’s all this?”

Melissa leans in the doorway, her platinum hair smoothed back in two immaculate French braids. I swipe at the flour on my nose with my wrist.

“Apology baking. We’ll be done soon if you want to use the kitchen.”

Melissa smirks and steps down onto the flagstones. They’re bigger here than in other rooms, and stained black from smoke.

“Offended someone else? You’re a busy bee.”

I shrug. No point arguing with the facts. I brace myself for another Melissa Penderly jab, but it doesn’t come.

“I’m glad you told them, Gigi. I didn’t think you would. They deserve to know.”

I blink at my frosty roommate, but her mouth is curled in a faint smile. Wordlessly, I offer her the bowl with leftover scraps of gingerbread dough.

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