Withering Rose (Once Upon A Curse Book 2) by Kaitlyn Davis Page B

hesitant knock
against my door. And for some reason, it brings a smile to my lips
and a warm, fuzzy feeling to my heart.
    "You can come in," I call.
    He does, poking his head through the door
first, gray eyes widening when he spots me sitting up in the center
of the bed with the comforter wrapped snugly around me.
    "You're still asleep?" he asks, puzzled.
    I should probably feel mildly embarrassed.
My curly auburn hair is most definitely in disarray. My eyes are
still heavy with sleep. And when I turn my gaze to the window, I
realize the sun is very high in the sky. But all I could think
about all morning was how cozy and warm it was beneath the covers,
and how I had nothing to do all day, and how for once I felt safe
enough to just relax for a little while.
    So instead, I shrug. "I'm awake now."
    Cole stays in the doorway, filling the
opening with his expansive frame. Something about him is more
awkward than usual, as though all of his predatory grace has fled
for the moment. He reaches up, rubbing the back of his neck, and I
find myself holding back a giggle. "I, uh, brought you some food if
you want it."
    My pent-up laugh turns to a soft groan when
I notice the small bag in his other hand. "More apples and dried
meat?" After days and days of eating the same thing, my stomach
yearns for new flavors.
    But in the silence following my words, I
watch Cole's entire person fall slowly—first his hand, which drifts
back to his side, then his brows, which tighten into a knot, and
then his nearly smiling lips, which drop into a frown.
    "I'm sorry," I say quickly, sitting up, not
sure what I did.
    And then it hits me.
    I'm an idiot.
    All this time that apples and meats have
been delivered to my door, I never thought about where they came
from or who prepared them. I was too afraid of the animals dropping
the packages outside my room to even think about anything else. But
wolves can't tend to apple trees. And bears can't prepare meats to
dry. And leopards can't bake any sort of bread. Only one person
can.
    Cole.
    He's the only human I've seen.
    He's been silently looking after me this
entire time.
    And how do I show my gratitude? By behaving
like a brat and asking for something else. Maybe he doesn’t have
anything else. Maybe he doesn’t know how to make anything else. Who
would have taught him how to cook? The wolves?
    "Cole?" I ask softly.
    He nods, not looking at me, pretending to be
tough just like I always pretend. But the tense line of his jaw
gives him away.
    "Has anyone ever made you breakfast?" I
question.
    His gaze flicks toward me then, alight with
interest, and the clenched muscles in his neck release.
    That's all the answer I need because we're
friends. And friends don't act like spoiled jerks. Friends don't
question someone else's form of kindness. Friends give back and
show some compassion of their own. Friends see that spark of
intrigue and get a twinge of excitement at being the one to put it
there.
    At least, I think they do.
    In a flash, I hop out of bed. I went to
sleep in a soft cotton gown I found in the armoire, and I don't
feel like wasting any time changing back into my T-shirt and jeans,
which if I'm being honest, are starting to smell. So I wrap a cloak
around my shoulders and grab Cole's hand, pleased when he latches
his fingers tighter around mine instead of pulling away.
    "Where's the kitchen?" I ask when we enter
the hall.
    Cole takes the lead, tugging me gently down
long corridors until we reach a massive room that makes me gasp.
Pots and pans line the back wall, all different shapes and sizes.
There must be four ovens and ten stovetops. A huge table topped
with a sturdy wooden block fills the center of the space and
resting beneath the prep surface are every utensil and every bowl I
could ever imagine needing. When I turn to look behind me, there
are multiple cabinets filled with enough china to serve a hundred
people.
    My eyes find Cole's.
    But his have grown hard and stormy
again.
    The questions