Chapter 166: Would They Fit In?
{Elira}
~**^**~
Zenon didn’t so much as twitch. He just stirred the pan with calm precision, though his jaw tightened slightly.
"Careful, Lennon," he said flatly. "The food might end up in your face instead."
I stifled a laugh, but Lennon caught it immediately and pointed. "Ha. She is laughing at you, not with you."
Zenon’s eyes cut toward me briefly, sharp enough to pin me in place. My smile faltered, and I ducked my head, pretending to examine the fruit bowl on the counter.
"Honestly," Lennon went on, circling closer to the stove, "who knew our mighty Zenon could cook? Tell me, brother, do you add a dash of intimidation instead of salt? Or maybe—"
"Get out of my kitchen," Zenon said calmly, though his tone was edged like a blade.
Lennon only grinned wider. "My kitchen, technically. You are just the chef."
Before Zenon could snap back, Rennon slipped into the kitchen, quiet as always. Next, he plucked an apple from the fruit bowl, turned it in his hand once, and then offered it to me.
"Eat something before dinner is ready," he said, his voice gentle, the ghost of a smile softening his face.
I blinked, caught between Lennon’s endless teasing and Zenon’s stormy silence, before taking the apple. "Thank you."
As I bit into it, Lennon groaned dramatically. "Ugh, look at that—she thanks him, but when I drag her all the way out here to witness this miracle, what do I get? Weird looks and rejection."
I rolled my eyes, chewing slowly, savouring the sweet crispness. "You earned those."
Rennon’s lips twitched, almost a smile, while Zenon kept working without a word.
Lennon threw his hands up, muttering something about being "undervalued" as he sprawled back against the counter.
---
It didn’t take long before Zenon switched off the stove and began plating the food with the same precision he had shown in cooking it.
And immediately, the scent filled the small kitchen, thick and rich, and my stomach growled again in betrayal.
Lennon immediately swooped in, snatching a plate before Zenon could even set it down. "Finally. I thought we would starve while you perfected the art of stirring."
"Sit," Zenon ordered flatly, already moving to the table.
Rennon guided me gently by the elbow toward one of the chairs. "Here. Take this spot."
I sank down, the apple core still in my hand, only now realizing how hungry I really was.
My nerves had kept it at bay all day, but with the food steaming on the table, I felt the hunger clawing deep.
Zenon set a plate in front of me. Meat, roasted vegetables, and a stew that smelled so good it almost made my eyes sting.
"Eat," he said simply, as though I needed the command.
But I didn’t argue. I didn’t think I could ever argue with Zenon and besides, a hungry person doesn’t have that kind of energy.
The first bite I took was rich and warm, better than anything I expected. My eyes widened before I could stop them.
Lennon leaned across the table, his grin wicked. "Careful, Elira. If you look too impressed, he will make you peel potatoes next time."
I swallowed quickly, shooting him a glare. "I didn’t say anything."
"You didn’t have to," Lennon teased. "Your face already did."
Rennon, calm as always, poured water into my glass and slid it toward me. "Ignore him. He is just upset that Zenon has more hidden talents than he does."
That earned him a loud scoff from Lennon. "Excuse me? I’m the talent here. I provide the entertainment, the charm. The—"
"The noise," Zenon cut in smoothly.
I choked on my water, trying not to laugh. But Lennon pointed his fork at both of them, muttered "Traitors," before dramatically shoving another bite into his mouth.
As a little time passed, I surprised myself by laughing harder than I meant to at one of Lennon’s ridiculous complaints about being "mistreated as the most charming brother."
The sound slipped out of me before I could catch it, bubbling up and breaking loose.
Lennon smirked instantly. "There it is. Music to my ears."
I ducked my head quickly, pressing my lips together, but Rennon’s small smile told me I hadn’t hidden it fast enough.
Even Zenon’s gaze flicked toward me once, sharp but unreadable, before returning to his plate.
I took another bite to cover myself, but the warmth stayed with me, settling deep in my chest. It felt nice. To sit here, to eat with them, to almost forget the storm inside me for a while.
I have never had this kind of opportunity to spend time with them alone in this kind of setting. This was a first.
And I know I might be getting ahead of myself, but I wish another opportunity like this would pop up again.
But when the meal slowly wound down, the reality of the cottage returned.
My eyes swept the little living room again—the couch already pulled halfway apart for sleeping space, the small rug, the limited room.
The question slipped out before I could stop myself. "Will you really be able to fit in here?"
Zenon looked up immediately, his gaze sharp, like he was already reading the thought behind my words.
Then, with a maddeningly calm voice, he asked, "Why? You want us to join you in the room?"
Instantly, heat surged straight to my cheeks. "I—no, that’s not what I—"
Lennon choked on his food, grinning wickedly through his cough. Rennon’s brows lifted slightly in quiet surprise, though his mouth pressed as if he were fighting back a chuckle.
I stammered uselessly, finally managing to mutter, "I was just concerned."
Zenon’s gaze lingered on me a beat too long before he returned to his food. His tone was flat, almost dismissive.
"Do not be worried when you don’t have a solution. It’s useless—and a waste of time."
The words cut sharper than I expected. My lips pressed tight, cheeks still hot, and I dropped my gaze back to my plate, trying to pretend the food was suddenly fascinating.