Dinner at Last
1167 Words
Rain lingered over Ashford Manor long after their return from Blackthorn. Raindrops raced down the floor-to-ceiling windows, blurring the rolling manicured gardens into a quiet watercolor of deep greens and slate grays.
After changing into a cozy cream knit sweater and dark trousers, Liora made her way downstairs. The rich, comforting scent of freshly baked bread drifted from the formal dining room, drawing her in.
Mrs. Agnes looked up from smoothing the linen tablecloth. "Good evening, Mrs. Ashford."
"I've told you, Liora is fine," she gently teased.
Mrs. Agnes let out a soft laugh. "And I'm afraid I'm far too set in my ways to change now, dear."
"Fair enough." Liora offered a warm smile, but it faltered slightly as her eyes fell on the table setting.
Only a single place setting had been prepared.
"So..." she began, trying to sound indifferent, "Mr. Ashford is working in his study again?"
Before the housekeeper could answer, low footsteps echoed along the hardwood corridor.
Liora turned. Caelan stepped into the doorway, wearing a dark gray cashmere sweater instead of his usual razor-sharp suit jacket. His tie was gone, his collar unbuttoned, and his sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He looked relaxed—or as relaxed as a man carrying the weight of a secret empire could manage.
"You came," Liora murmured, a bit surprised.
Caelan looked at her, an amused glint in his dark eyes. "I said I'd try."
"You did."
"I try to be a man of my word."
Behind them, Mrs. Agnes quietly hid a triumphant smile as she slipped into the kitchen.
Dinner began with an endearing awkwardness. It wasn't born of discomfort, but rather the charm of two practical strangers navigating the unmapped territory of a contract marriage.
Liora lifted her silver fork. "So—"
"So—" Caelan started at the exact same moment.
Both broke into quiet laughter.
"You first," Caelan insisted, gesturing across the table.
"No, go ahead."
He considered her for a second. "How long have you wanted to dedicate your life to restoring historical architecture?"
"Since I was twelve," she replied without hesitation. "My father used to take me to decaying churches and ancient museums every weekend." Her smile softened, painted with nostalgia. "He always said, *'People disappear, Liora. Buildings remember.
Caelan’s expression shifted, a subtle flash of reverence softening his features. "That is a beautiful way to view the world."
"It is," she agreed softly, leaning forward. "What about you? When did you fall in love with history?"
"I've loved it for as long as I can remember," he answered smoothly.
Liora raised an eyebrow. "That’s a cop-out."
"Is it?"
"Absolutely." She laughed. "Everyone remembers the exact spark that started their passion."
Caelan looked down at his dark coffee cup for a quiet moment. When he looked back up, his voice was barely above a whisper. "I genuinely don't."
The vulnerability in his tone made her pause. She felt the urge to push, but her instinct told her to gently step back instead.
"Fair enough," she said, switching gears smoothly. "What do you do when you aren't running global conglomerates?"
"I read. I walk."
"In the rain?"
"Preferably."
"You really do love rainy days," she murmured, shaking her head with a smile. "I'll never fully understand you, Caelan."
His dark eyes locked onto hers with quiet intensity. "You don't have to."
Halfway through the evening, Mrs. Agnes returned to present a warm, freshly baked apple tart dusted with cinnamon.
Liora’s eyes lit up. "Oh, this looks incredible!"
"My grandmother's secret recipe," Mrs. Agnes boasted warmly.
Liora took a bite and sighed in pure delight. "It's heavenly." She looked across the table, noticing Caelan’s dessert plate sat untouched. She let out a dramatic sigh. "You're doing it again."
"I'm afraid I am," he admitted softly.
"You promised you'd try."
"I haven't the slightest appetite for sweets, Liora."
"You won't know unless you try," she insisted, cutting a small piece with her fork and extending it across the table toward him. "One bite. For the chef's sake."
Caelan stared at the fork, then up at her hopeful, persistent expression.
Slowly, almost hesitantly, he leaned forward and took the bite.
He chewed thoughtfully, the quiet room hanging in suspense. Liora leaned in closer. "Well?"
After a agonizingly long pause, a faint smile touched his lips. "It's exceptional."
Liora grinned victoriously. "I knew it!"
In the corner of the room, Mrs. Agnes nearly dropped her serving tray. In thirty years of service, she had never seen Caelan Ashford consume a single bite of dessert. Suppressing a gasp of delight, the housekeeper quickly excused herself to give them privacy.
Later that night, Liora wandered into the vast, warm-lit library.
Caelan was there, standing near a towering bookshelf, carefully returning leather volumes to their places.
"You really spend all your free time here, don't you?" she asked, strolling along the perimeter.
"Libraries are predictable," he said quietly. "They are peaceful."
"There must be thousands of books in here."
"Eighteen thousand, four hundred and twenty," he corrected calmly.
Liora stopped in her tracks. "You counted eighteen thousand books?"
"No. I catalogued them."
She laughed softly. "That is somehow even more terrifying."
As she continued browsing the lower shelves, her fingers brushed across a row of thick, vintage leather albums bound in gold leaf.
"Oh!" She smiled, pulling back slightly. "Are these your family photo albums? I was wondering why there weren't any pictures downstairs."
She reached out to pull one from the shelf
"Liora."
His voice wasn't loud, nor was it aggressive, but the sheer weight of authority in it made her freeze instantly.
She turned around. Caelan had stepped down from the ladder and was walking toward her with slow, deliberate steps.
"If you don't mind..." he said softly, stopping a foot away from her, "...I would prefer to keep those private."
In that brief, unguarded second, Liora saw past his composed exterior. It wasn't anger in his eyes. It wasn't irritation or secrecy.
Liora immediately pulled her hand back, tucking her arm behind her back. "I'm so sorry, Caelan.
"You don't need to apologize," he murmured, his gaze softening as he registered her respect for his boundary.
An emotional quiet settled over the room thick, heavy,
Caelan offered a small, fragile smile. "Perhaps one day."
Liora returned it gently. "I'll wait until you're ready."
Neither of them said another word, but the unspoken agreement hung in the air. By respecting his wall rather than trying to tear it down, Liora had just laid the first true brick of trust between them.
As Liora walked up the grand staircase toward her room, she paused at the landing and glanced back down.
Caelan remained standing in the dim library glow, staring silently at the shelf of unopened photo albums.
Liora touched the ring on her finger, whispering to the quiet hallway, "What are you hiding really, Caelan Ashford?"
Downstairs, Caelan slowly raised his hand, resting his palm against the spine of the oldest album.
- Writer
