Beyond the Broken Angel

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

— a heart's lullaby —

GISELLE TOOK A good, long bath after her argument with Will, even going as far as to light a few candles to try and make the atmosphere more relaxing. She needed all the relaxation she could get to relieve the tension in her body.

By the time she was done, the sky was a rich blue as the sun steadily moved toward the horizon. She exited the bathroom in her silky, navy bath robe and matching slippers.

Her hair had been piled atop her head in a messy bun in an attempt to keep it from getting wet, though the steam from the bath had caused the flyaways around her face to curl up.

Her stomach grumbled when she caught the scent of food in the air, her feet leading her towards the kitchen. She halted in the doorway when she spotted Will's muscled back facing her as he flipped something in a pan with a wooden spatula.

"Why are you cooking?" she couldn't help but ask. In all her almost three years of living with him, she hadn't seen him use the stove other than to heat a kettle for tea. "Where's Marguerite?" When Selene was away, Marguerite happily took the helm in the kitchen.

Will glanced at her over his shoulder, his eyes lingering a bit too long before he turned back to cooking. "Marguerite went out to dinner with Jim Ludlow," he informed.

Giselle sidled up next to him, eyeing the eggs he was frying with butter in the skillet, the butter turning dark. "Your butter is starting to burn," she pointed out. He frowned, not saying anything. "Are you only making eggs for dinner?"

"That's all I really know how to make. As you can see, I can't even do it well!" She could hear the agitation in his voice. Will was a perfectionist that held himself to a high standard, and she knew that it bothered him not being able to perfectly fry his eggs on the first try.

"Will, let me help," she offered, trying to take the spatula from him. He shook his head, keeping the spatula in his vise-like grip. "Will," she tried a different approach, "butter burns easily." She grabbed the decanter of oil on the counter, handing it to him. "Oil should help stop it."

"How much?"

"I'll tell you when." He poured it, a little at a time. "That should be good." They made eye contact as he handed the oil back to her, and it took everything in her to break that contact to turn and set the oil onto the counter.

"Giselle," Will called to her, bringing her attention back to his eyes. "Can you help me?"

With those eyes and that deep, masculine voice speaking such soft words, she couldn't deny him anything. "Absolutely," she told him.

"I don't know what else to cook," he admitted sheepishly, looking back to the skillet.

She nodded in acknowledgement, going to look through the pantry and fridge for any ideas. She returned to him with a few things in her arms, setting them on the counter.

"You already have eggs going, so why not make breakfast for dinner?" she suggested. "I found a can of beans in the back of the pantry, and I can heat up some toast to go with it, and we have sausage. Does that sound good?"

The corner of Will's mouth lifted up. "Breakfast for dinner?" He shook his head like he couldn't believe she had suggested such an idea. "I've never heard of such a thing, but I'm not against it."

She smirked back at him, and they fell into a peaceful harmony together, as if they had never uttered a single harsh syllable to the other only hours earlier.

Will finished the eggs and stepped back from the stove to let Giselle get started on heating the beans and cooking the sausage. He moved to the contraption on the counter that looked too fancy to be a toaster, buttering the bread and toasting it.