Moving into the main house was strange and intimate in ways Evelyn hadn't anticipated. Her small room was down the hall from Lilly's and across from Mrs. Chen's, close enough to hear if the older woman needed anything during the night. It was bigger than her bunkhouse quarters and significantly more comfortable with a real bed and a window that looked out over the valley. But the real change was in the daily rhythms. She now ate breakfast with Ridgewell and Lilly, cooked in a kitchen that was better equipped than the bunkhouse setup, and moved through spaces that felt more like a home than a workplace.
Lilly was delighted to have her there all the time. The girl shadowed her constantly, helping with cooking and chattering about everything and nothing. In the evenings, they would sit together in the main room while Ridgewell worked on his accounts, and it felt dangerously like a family. Mrs. Chen recovered slowly. The doctor finally made it through 3 days after the fall and confirmed that Evelyn had done a good job setting the ankle, but that it would be weeks before the older woman could put weight on it properly.
"I'm sorry to be such a burden," Mrs. Chen said. "You're not a burden. You're a friend who's injured." Evelyn adjusted the pillows behind her back. "Besides, you've helped me more times than I can count.
This is just returning the favor. Still, I know this puts you in an awkward position. Living in the main house, spending so much time with Dawson and Lily. People will talk." "People are always talking.
I've stopped listening." "Have you?" Mrs. Chen looked at her carefully. "Or have you just gotten better at pretending?" It was the same question Ridgewell had asked at the party.
Evelyn still didn't have a good answer. The moment that changed everything came 2 weeks later on a night when winter had its teeth fully sunk into the ranch and the wind howled like something alive outside the windows. Evelyn had put Lily to bed and checked on Mrs. Chen who was sleeping peacefully. She should have gone to her own room, but instead she found herself in the kitchen making tea, delaying the moment when she'd have to face the quiet and her own thoughts. Ridgewell appeared in the doorway still dressed from his day's work, looking tired and windburned.
"Can't sleep?" he asked. "Haven't tried yet. You want tea?" "Please." They sat at the kitchen table together, warming their hands on the cups and not talking about anything important.
It felt comfortable and domestic and absolutely terrifying in its normalcy. "Your contract ends in 3 weeks," Ridgewell finally said. "I know." "Have you decided what you're doing after?" Evelyn stared into her tea.
"Not yet." "You could stay. I could offer you a permanent position, not just a contract. Better wages, your own cottage on the property if you wanted more privacy. You'd still cook for the hands, but it would be yours.
No end date hanging over you." "Is that what you want? For me to stay as the cook? The silence stretched out between them. When Ridgewell finally spoke, his voice was rough.
No. That's not what I want. Evelyn's heart was hammering so hard she could barely breathe. Then what do you want? I want you to stay as more than the cook.