Lunch
1011 Words
By midday, Clara was almost proud of herself.
She still didn’t understand half of what Elijah had shown her, but she had followed him through it all, listening, watching, trying to piece together a life that didn’t belong to her yesterday.
The cold storage beneath the floorboards.
The smokehouse was thick with the scent of preserved meat.
The root cellar, cool and dim, lined with jars and vegetables she didn’t recognize.
It wasn’t an air fryer.
It wasn’t an Instant Pot.
But it was something she could learn.
“I’ll show you the stove proper tonight,” Elijah had said, like it was the simplest promise in the world. “Once the work’s done.”
Clara had hesitated, glancing back at the black iron monster that had already tried to take her hand.
“You sure?” she asked. “Because I feel like I nearly lost a fight with it this morning.”
His mouth had curved, just a little.
“Ain’t much to it once you know it,” he said. “Just got to learn how it breathes.”
She blinked at that.
“How it… breathes?”
He stepped closer then, not crowding her, just enough that she could feel the warmth of him again, steady and grounding in a way that still caught her off guard.
“Fire’s like anything else,” he said. “You pay attention, it’ll tell you what it needs.”
Clara studied him for a second.
“You make it sound like I’m about to take lessons from a stove.”
“You are,” he said easily.
That should have annoyed her.
Instead, it didn’t.
Because he wasn’t teasing.
He wasn’t laughing at her.
He was… including her.
Then he leaned in, pressing a light kiss to her forehead, the gesture so simple and unhurried it caught her more off guard than anything else had that morning.
“Don’t burn down the house while I’m gone,” he added.
“I’ll try my best,” she said.
His chuckle followed him out the door.
And somehow, that did more to settle her nerves than anything else had.
For the first time since she woke up here…
Clara thought she might actually manage this.
She couldn’t sit still.
The house was too quiet for that. Too still in a way that made her aware of every passing second. The only book she could find was a Bible, and after flipping through a few pages, she set it aside with a small shake of her head.
Not that bored.
So she explored.
She moved through the space slowly, touching things as she went, trying to make sense of them. The cold storage beneath the floorboards. The jars in the cellar. The careful way everything had a place, a purpose.
It was… a system.
Just not one she knew.
After a while, though, the silence crept back in.
Her thoughts turned restless again, reaching for something that wasn’t there.
Her phone.
A distraction.
Anything to fill the space.
There was nothing.
Clara let out a breath and leaned against the counter, staring at her hands.
“Okay,” she muttered. “So… we do something.”
And that was when she saw it.
The ham.
It wasn’t cooking.
But it was food.
And it was something she could do without setting anything else on fire.
More than that…
It was something she could do for him.
The thought settled quietly.
Elijah had taken care of her since the moment she woke up. Steady. Patient. Like none of this was a burden.
This could be her turn.
Clara straightened a little.
“Okay,” she said softly. “We can do this.”
A few careful slices.
Bread.
She arranged it with more care than it probably deserved, trying to make it look like something intentional, something that said she had meant to do this, not just thrown it together.
It wasn’t much.
But it was something.
She wrapped it in a cloth napkin, tying it off with more confidence than she felt.
Lunch.
For him.
She smiled to herself.
Then headed outside.
The air was brighter than she expected, the land stretching farther than anything she was used to, open and endless in a way that made her feel small and unsteady.
But she had a purpose now.
She spotted him out in the field.
Broad shoulders. Dark hair. Moving with that same steady confidence, she was starting to recognize.
Relief came easily.
Of course, she found him.
Clara gathered her skirts and hurried forward, her steps quicker than she meant them to be.
Her arms wrapped around him from behind, momentum carrying her forward as she rose up just enough to press her mouth to his.
For a split second, he didn’t move.
Went completely still beneath her hands.
Then everything changed.
His arms came around her, fast and firm, pulling her in like he wasn’t ever going to let her go. The kiss deepened without hesitation, rougher this time, less patient, as something held back too long had finally broken free.
Clara gasped softly against him, her fingers tightening in his shirt as the world tipped sideways for a moment.
She could feel it, his yearning so deep for her; she felt it deep in her core.
She pulled back, breathless, smiling despite herself.
“Look, Elijah,” she said, holding out the wrapped cloth, a small note of pride slipping into her voice. “I made you lunch.”
For a moment, everything stopped; he didn't.
He didn’t move at all.
His hands were still on her, but something in his expression had gone still. Not softened.
Controlled.
Clara’s smile faltered. "I didn't use the stove, I promise."
He set her firmly on the ground.
“Elijah’s with the cows.”
The words didn’t make sense at first.
Not right away.
Not until his gaze settled on her again, steady and unreadable, every trace of that earlier heat gone as if it had never been there.
“I'm Noah.”
- Writer
