Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
The only thing that makes it easier to go to the main room is that the fireplace is there, and it will be warmer. I’ve been craving heat, like everyone else in town, so I square my shoulders and go, my thick winter socks almost silent on the floor.
Hansel’s in the kitchen. One look at him tells me he hasn’t slept. There are dark circles under his eyes, and he’s wearing a burdened expression along with yesterday’s clothes. He’s got his coat on, and his back is to me. The fire crackles in the hearth, throwing off as much heat and light as when I went to sleep.
There’s a bag hanging on the hook by my cloak and my bag.
Hansel has already packed.
Hope springs in my chest. I can’t go back alone. It was torture the last time and I don’t know what waits for me. But she haunts me. I have to go and see this to the end.
I pray he comes with me and seeing the bag offers me hope.
I want to hide under the blanket. I want to disappear, just like I wanted to disappear yesterday. But I can’t go back now. I need to be certain Hansel understands that what’s happening is real.
I wrap the blanket tighter around my shoulders, my chest clenching, and pad across to the kitchen table.
Hansel cracks an egg into a pan on the stove, then glances over his shoulder at me. He lifts his chin in a quick acknowledgment, but doesn’t say a word.
It’s been years since I’ve spoken to him in confidence. After what happened, when we came home, there was concern that drifted us apart.
We have to talk, but I can’t say I’m in a hurry to start the conversation. The quiet used to be comfortable between us. Now a thick tension hangs in the air and makes my throat ache. The last thing I want to do is talk about the past, or the witch, or the stones, so I sit there in silence while Hansel cooks.
I can’t help looking at him.
He’s taller than he was when we were younger. His shoulders are broader. He’s on the slim side, but then—everyone in the village is. That’s what happens when there’s a famine, and a wildfire, and when most of us are on the edge of starving.
I wish I could get close to him, even if it was just under the pretense of staying warm. I want to go to him and put my arms around his waist and let my nose brush the back of his jacket. He was the only friend I had. And when we parted, I had no one. And neither did he. No one could understand what we’d been through. But everyone thought it wise to keep us apart. I could press a kiss to his back so lightly he wouldn’t notice. I could simply feel him—his sturdy muscles and his strong heartbeat.
I could feel his warmth.
Readjusting the blanket, I sit quietly and press my thighs together under the table. My whole body screams to get up and go to him. My body doesn’t care that Hansel hates me. It just wants him, in every way there is to want someone. I can’t stop wanting him. It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t want me anymore.
Not as a friend and not as anything more.
He’s always had a hold on me, like something out of a fairytale. It was Hansel I dreamed about at night. When I was younger, my dreams were sweet. Taffy and holding hands and smirking at one another.
When I got older, and Hansel got tall and handsome, my dreams got less sweet and more… sinful. I dreamed about his body under his clothes and his hair wet from swimming in the river and how his mouth would feel on mine. The childish love I felt for him became something hot and irresistible. I learned what a craving was because that was the only word I could find to describe how I wanted him. Needed him.
To take away what was and protect me again like he once did.
I shake my head and pull the blanket as tight around me as I can. I didn’t come here because I’d hoped there was still hope for us.
Hope abandoned us long ago.
The rocks. The witch.
Thinking of her, even for a few seconds, turns my blood to ice. I focus back on watching Hansel cook.
His hands are large—a man’s hands—but capable as he cooks the eggs and warms the bread in the pan the way I used to love when we were kids. Hansel adds a few sausages to the pan as well, which makes my heart twist all over again.
Food is hard to come by in the village. What little there is costs more than it ever has before. Hansel and his father don’t have much—nobody does—and yet he’s going to offer some of it to me.