Knead

Hope In Front of Me //Danny Gokey

My mind is at war with itself.

Is it considered unladylike to lick your plate clean when there is no one present to witness such an abomination? I finished eating the cake while sitting out in the garden, but there is enough frosting on the plate to temp me further. Shrugging my shoulders, knowing that everyone is inside dancing the night away, I bring the plate to my mouth and touch my tongue to the chocolate.

If no one watches me lick the plate clean, then no one will be disgusted by the moans of delight I am making while doing it.  As I finish, I sigh, long and deep. The bench is the perfect distance from the fountain to put my feet on its edge and lean back slightly. The sound of the water splashing paired with the lilting notes of the stringed instruments is peaceful. I wish I could have nights like this more often. Come to think of it, I never have nights like this. My nights usually consist of cleaning the bakery, eating a quick bite then passing out in my bed until it's time to start all over again.

I'm somewhat surprised I have enough energy to keep my eyes open this late. Normally at this time of night, I've already been asleep for a few hours. Having the bakery closed for the day in preparation seems to have also given me a bit of extra life. Too bad that tomorrow will arrive earlier than I'll be ready. Such is the life of a baker, spent mostly in the wee hours of the morning covered in flour.

With my eyes closed and my stomach full of sweetness, I find myself relaxing to the point that all of my worries vanish. The slight chill in the air is finally pressing through the layers of my dress. I wish I had brought my coat out here. I wrap my arms around myself to keep warm, rubbing my hands up and down to heat my skin.

"I suppose I should go back inside to warm up," I mumble to myself. Just as I'm about to get up and walk back into the dreaded party, my coat drops into my lap.

"You forgot this. Not very wise to spend time outside without something to keep yourself warm at this time of year." Nicandros chides as he sits on the bench beside me.

"I would say thank you, but I have a feeling you only brought me my coat in order to hold some demand over me." I reluctantly take the coat and slip my arms into the sleeves.

"Perhaps you are right," he says in response.

Cad.

What am I to say to that? Nothing. So that is what I do, sit in silence and let him lead the conversation if he so chooses. I have no desire to tell him anything of my life or my thoughts again, knowing how that has already burned me so I say nothing at all.

"Your sister is quite agreeable, charming if I do say so, whereas you have quite the bitter spirit." Nicandros looks at the fountain as he speaks.

"She is blind." I cross my arms. "She only sees what she wants to see."

"And what is it that you see?"

I look directly at him, showing him no fear...until I see those black as night eyes boring into mine. My breathing falters once again, and suddenly I wonder if it is truly fear that is coursing through my veins or something else, something more familiar.

"Darkness." I answer as honestly as I can because that is all that I see at the moment.

"Darkness, is it? And what do you know of darkness?"

His question confuses me. Why would I need to know darkness to recognize it? I find myself shaking my head in disagreement. "The only darkness I've known is losing those that I have loved dearly." His eyes widened at my confession. "Fair Lord, it is not knowing darkness that allows me to see it for what it is. It is having known of the light that allows me to recognize the dark, to see when the light is gone."

Nicandros moves away from me, still seated on the bench. He pulls his body as far from me as he can while still regarding me. His look is cold and yes, still dark. And yet there is something more stirring beneath it. He is silent for a moment, as though weighing a great decision he must now make. When he finally speaks again, his voice is a hushed whisper.

"I know of darkness, but very little of the light. Only recently have I found something that is casting away the shadows."

His words are a secret. They cause me to shudder as if the sound of his voice has form and physical touch. The sensation leaves me feeling uncomfortable so I reach my hands into the pockets of my coat. I wrap my fingers around the little wooden bird that I carry with me now constantly.  Nicandros' eyes look down, watching the movement of my hand within the pocket.

"I would say that you had some wicked scheming within that pocket, but the look in your eyes tells me otherwise." His smirk is back, firmly in place.

For reasons I'm not even sure of myself, I pull the bird from my pocket and gaze down at it. I don't bother looking to see Nicandros' reaction to my little treasure. It doesn't matter anyway. My thumb runs down the length of the bird, feeling every feather carved into the soft wood.

"A trinket of magic." Nicandros voice is still barely a whisper, and yet his teasing tone is clearly marked. "A talisman. I had not figured you to be a witch."

"What?" My voice is shocked, and my eyes glare at him. "You are quick to judge aren't you? I am no more a witch than you are a gentleman." I grip the bird a bit tighter.

His eyes move back to the bird. The look of indecision returns to his face.  Then he speaks. "There are many stories told of this little bird."

My heart once again begins to race. I'm met with such a strong sensation of familiarity that I almost choke. "Are there?" My voice is a thin breath of sound, barely audible above the music. I know he's heard me when his head begins to nod.

"I'll tell you about one. Perhaps you already know of it." He turns his face away, his body still on the opposite edge of the bench.

"There are tales of a woman who baked bread, and a traveling man who sought such bread as he made his way past. A story of a bitter, selfish woman and a patient man. One that ends with the woman turned into a bird, a red woodpecker to match her bitter heart."

I'm struck silent for a beat too long. My mind reels with thoughts of the woman in Drue's story, just trying to care for her family and provide for them. The man in that story was demanding, devious. His selfish desires robbed her of joy. Nicandros begins to speak again, but I have no interest in hearing his disdainful words.

"So, it is the woman who is bitter and selfish?" I ask.

Nicandros stops his speech, whatever it was, and looks at me with confusion. I lean forward to continue speaking.

"Perhaps it is the traveling man who is bitter and selfish, taking from a poor hard working woman who was only seeking to protect her family. Perhaps it was his cruel actions that ruined her, and not the other way around, leaving her cursed."

Confusion clears from his eyes and seems to be replaced with a look I've only seen one other time. The afternoon I took Mrs. Naimer to task for speaking ill of my mother, he had a look of wicked delight. It is that look which I now see in his eyes.

"I would argue that bitterness is its own curse, my dear Daralis."

Nicandros stands to leave. He tips his head towards me in goodbye but says nothing else. What more could he say? I feel as though there is a vice gripping my heart, but I'm too overwhelmed, too emotionally wrought to force it loose. Suddenly I am in desperate need of another piece of chocolate cake.

You know this is one of my favorites...all of the Nicandros interactions make me smile!

Daralis is about to get some answers from such an unlikely source, and it will lead her places she never expected to go. I'm incredibly excited to share what's coming! I'd love your continued feedback, it's so helpful!

Don't forget, I'm also currently writing and posting Not Another Princess, book 4 in the Hollywood Stories series! Rivals to lovers, opposites attract, forced proximity and all about life in the spotlight...plus it's entirely in the guy's POV (except for 1 surprise chapter from the heroine).

Hope is on the horizon, and this song sets the tone.

https://youtu.be/9KIhYZQ_ovw

See you tomorrow!