A couple of days have passed since that night.
Everything was still fresh in my mind — every word, every glance, every moment.
It had been... perfect.
A lump of dough slapped against the counter, snapping me out of my thoughts.
"Well, you seem to be lost in thought," my mother said, her hands deep in flour.
She wasn't wrong. Even with the heat of the oven and the smell of fresh bread filling the room, my thoughts kept drifting back.
I had come to visit my parents' home to clear my head — or at least, that was the plan. Somehow, being here made the thoughts louder.
Mom and I had decided to bake together and cook a meal to share with Dad when he came home.
"Sorry, Mom, I'm just—"
She raised her hand with a knowing smile. "It's all right."
Her lips curved a little wider. "So… what's his name?"
I blinked. "Who?"
She chuckled. "I know you, my dear daughter. And frankly, I've already heard about him from a few friends."
I went pale.
"Relax," she said, laughing softly. "I'm not asking because I'm angry. I support you, and so does your father. We just want to know the man who's caught your eye."
"I thought you always wanted Lord Caoel," I muttered.
"He's a family friend," she replied, rolling the dough with effortless grace. "Despite his young age, he holds an important place in this country. Of course I only want the best for you, but I respect your choice. After all, not everyone was happy when I married your father."
That was true.
While my father was an important businessman, my mother had been nothing more than a baker, living day to day. But through her skill—and stubbornness — she had silenced the nobles who once whispered behind her back.
"Thank you, Mom."
I took a deep breath. "His name is Kaelith. He isn't from here — he's here on business. He has black hair and red eyes…"
I went on about him, every little detail I could recall. Mom just smiled quietly, absorbing every word, until we heard the familiar voice from the entryway:
"My darling girls, I am home!"
I couldn't help but smile. I ran over and hugged him, and he grunted as he lifted me slightly off the ground. He towers over me, making my height-or lack of it very clear.
"Welcome home, Dad."
He looked down at me,his warm brown eyes just like Mom's shining with joy. His smile—complete with those familiar dimples—still had the power to melt my heart.
"Thank you, Nyra. You might be getting a bit too old for that, though," he teased.
"Nonsense, dear," Mom said, pecking his cheek. "She's just the right age still."
She took his jacket, and as always, he was dressed simply in a clean shirt, jeans, and well-worn boots. Mom, on the other hand, wore her favorite blue dress with a black apron tied neatly in front.
"Dinner should be ready soon, Nyra. Go ahead and set the table," she said.
"Okay." I washed the flour off my hands and began setting the plates, and Dad joined in to help.
"Good to see both my girls here today," he said warmly.
"I'm glad to be here, Dad."
It really was nice—comforting in a way I hadn't felt in a long time.
"Is business running smoothly?" he asked as we worked.
"As smooth as it can be. Winter's coming up, so I'm preparing for the shutdown."
Business almost never thrived during winter. Still, I always make sure to keep the shop open during the day—offering warmth and food to anyone who needs it, free of charge.
Being cold in winter was a death sentence here. Our "great" leaders saw no issue with that.
"Do you want any help with the shutdown?" Dad asked, placing the final plate.
"I think I can handle it, but I appreciate the offer."
He was nearing sixty—I wanted him to enjoy peace, not worry.
We carried the food from the kitchen, the smell of fresh stew, bread, and treats wrapping around us like a cozy blanket.
Before we ate, we joined hands.
"Thank you for the harvest and the time," we said together—simple,sweet, and sincere. None of us were particularly religious, but gratitude never hurt.
Just as I reached for a slice of bread, Dad spoke again.
"So… I heard you found someone?"
I froze. I should've known that was coming.
"Indeed, honey," Mom said quickly. "We were just talking about him! Seems like a good man—and our dear Nyra…" She clasped her hands dramatically. "is head over heels for him."
"Mom!" I turned bright red.
Dad's laughter filled the room, warm and booming.
"Is that so? Good to hear." He grabbed his bowl, pouring stew into it. "I only have one question, my dear Nyra."
I looked up, hesitantly.
"Does he feel the same?" he asked softly. "Or is this traveler just seeing you as a passing fling?"
Mom smacked his arm—hard enough to make him nearly drop his bowl.
I froze. That question… I hadn't even dared to ask myself.
"I… I…"
The words caught in my throat. How could I tell him that Kaelith was technically under my employment? That our relationship wasn't… simple?
Dad sighed gently. "You don't have to answer, my dear. I'm only asking for your sake. I don't want to see you hurt."
I stared down at my bowl. "Thank you, Father. I'll take your words to heart."
The conversation died there, but the silence lingered.
My stew—once so flavorful—now tasted like ash.
And for the first time, I questioned that perfect day.
That magical, fleeting moment.
Did he see it the same way I did?
Or was I just another passing dream to him?