As Old As Time: A Twisted Tale (Twisted Tale, A) by Liz Braswell

Author:Liz Braswell
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Disney Book Group
Published: 2016-09-05T23:00:00+00:00

Two hours later the kitchen was full of complex, amazing smells. Belle felt slightly drunk from the warmth, the scents, the complete exhaustion. Making dinner with a beast was hard work. And then making him clean up even harder. He didn’t protest, but handled an inanimate mop even more awkwardly than a beast with malformed hands should, having never touched anything like it before.

Belle wiped her brow. It was kind of amazing to cook in a kitchen like this. She never had any particular desire to pursue a more culinary life; food was fuel to be enjoyed in between books. But if I had to cook, boy, a kitchen like this would be amazing. The space…the ingredients…the size of the stove…

“Just what on earth is going on?” Cogsworth demanded, stomping into the room as giantly as his little padded wooden feet would allow. He stopped as soon as he saw the Beast, who was ripping off his apron. “Oh, master, I’m so sorry, I was just…”

Lumière was close behind.

“Well, well, what have we here?” The candelabrum made a noise like he was taking a great sniff. Belle wondered if he—if any of them—could smell. Or taste. They could obviously see, but how much of the rest of their lives were deadened by the curse? “Chicken? Mushrooms? Love?”

His flame flickered like he was waggling his eyebrows. Cogsworth hit him.

Belle smiled. “Your master and I made dinner for ourselves tonight.”

Cogsworth spluttered. “That’s highly—”

“—enterprising of you,” Lumière said with a bow, cocking a questioning eye at the Beast.

“It wasn’t my idea. But we did it,” the Beast said proudly.

“Well, then, we shall leave you to it,” Lumière said, ushering Cogsworth out with a wave of his flaming hand. “A night off! What shall we do?”

“…Cribbage, perhaps?”

Belle watched the two of them go almost fondly, then checked the dining room.

It was stark and formal-looking. Despite her insistence they do it all themselves, someone had set either end of the very long table with a full dinner service. The Beast looked at Belle. She gave him a smile and shook her head, gathering up all the spoons and forks and plates in one gentle sweep to bring them next to each other.

When they went into the kitchen to fetch the food, they found Mrs. Potts laying everything out on a tray to bring in. She spun around guiltily.

“Mrs. Potts,” Belle said, gently chastising. “We’re serving ourselves tonight. You deserve a break.”

“Oh, I was just, I felt bad about before, I just…” she sputtered. “You’ve got an excellent skill with cooking, my dear! This is all amazing!”

“If a bit élémentaire,” the stove called out helpfully.

To the Beast’s credit, when he lifted the lid of the coq and inhaled its glorious scent—and a fair bit of steam—into his wide, animal nostrils, he did not reach in his paw and scoop up a mouthful. It looked like he sorely wanted to. Instead he put the lid back down—maybe a trifle harder than was needed. Belle smiled her approval. She was busy gathering up all the other dishes, balancing the onion tart awkwardly on one arm.

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