Chapter 6In the hermitage’s tiny kitchen, in the dream of an evening, Lionel cooked for another person, at home, for the first time in years.
He had baked for other people, of course. He’d made tarts with fresh strawberries for Senior Gardener Theodora’s retirement party, last year. He thought people had enjoyed them.
He had not, however, invited someone over. Invited someone in. For supper.
He thought he was a decent cook, though he didn’t really know. His mother had been better, of course. And she’d loved it, both as her job and as a way to feed the village.
She had not been able to cook much, at the end. She had not eaten much, either, though he’d tried to replicate all her favorite foods, from the deep autumnal glory of a sweet-potato stew to the delicate airy beauty of a vanilla m
