Chapter Four: Stew, Sulks, and Surrender
The morning broke crisp and bright, the kind of winter sunlight that made Wrenbrook look like it had been dipped in gold. No suspicious flickers from the power lines, no strange ripples in the air — just peace.
For now.
Freya padded into the kitchen to find Axir already there, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. His expression was unreadable, but the sharpness in his gaze was unmistakable.
“You’re going out,” he said flatly, eyeing the blouse she’d chosen.
“Good morning to you too,” she replied, brushing past him to put the kettle on.
“Where?”
She paused just long enough to be dramatic. “Lunch. With Ian.”
His jaw tightened like she’d just announced she was dining with a known enemy. “Stay. We can watch more Vampire Diaries. I still don’t know if Damon gets the girl.”
She laughed. “Tempting. But no. I’ll be back soon.”
His frown deepened. “Soon is vague.”
She sipped her tea with exaggerated slowness. “You’ll survive.”
⸻
The Wrenbrook Lunch Shack was as cosy as ever, the kind of place where you could still smell yesterday’s bread baking. Ian was already seated by the window, grinning as she walked in.
“Freya! You look lovely,” he said, standing to pull out her chair.
She smiled politely, thanking him as she sat. The warmth of the little shack wrapped around her, and Ian launched straight into talk about the farm — a new paddock he was planning, the extra land he wanted to buy, a whole tangent about sheep breeds.
At first, she nodded along, asking the occasional question. But her mind began to drift.
To the man — alien — currently back at her house.
She thought about Axir’s ridiculous grumpiness, the way his sarcasm made her laugh more than she should admit. The dark, brooding way he stood in a room like he was in command of the air itself. The strange comfort of having him there, like a constant storm cloud you didn’t want to blow away.
Ian’s voice brought her back, but the spark wasn’t there. She realised, with a pang, that the flutter she used to feel around him was gone. Replaced with something heavier, warmer, and infinitely more complicated.
She really should be socialising more, especially at her age. But sitting here, she couldn’t stop comparing. And Ian — kind, dependable Ian — was losing to the crash-landed alien in sweatpants.
Halfway through his story about irrigation systems, she blurted, “I’m so sorry, Ian, but I’m not feeling great. I think I’d better head home.”
His brows furrowed in concern. “I can drive you.”
She shook her head quickly. “No, it’s fine. I’ve got my car.”
“You sure?”
“Positive. Thanks, though.”
He hesitated but nodded, and she offered a polite smile before slipping out into the cold.
⸻
By the time she reached her driveway, the air smelled faintly of woodsmoke — and something else, something mouthwatering.
She stepped inside and froze.
The kitchen glowed warm with late-afternoon light, and there he was.
Axir, in a soft grey T-shirt and sweatpants, an apron tied around his narrow waist. His dark hair was slightly messy, and he looked like he’d stepped straight out of some infuriatingly handsome domestic fantasy.
He was stirring something in a pot, humming low under his breath. The tune was unfamiliar, lilting and strange, but soothing.
For a moment, Freya just… watched. Let herself drink in the sight of him here, in her kitchen, like he belonged. Like he’d always been there.
He turned, catching her in the act. His eyes swept over her, sharp as ever. “You’re early.”
“Ian had to go,” she said lightly, slipping off her coat. “We didn’t finish lunch.”
Something flickered in his expression — satisfaction, quickly buried. “Pity,” he said, though it didn’t sound like one.
She moved closer, peering into the pot. “What’s this?”
“Vegetable stew,” he replied, lifting a spoon. “Your markets have adequate produce. I improved it.”
She laughed softly. “Improved it, huh? Let me guess — no measuring, no recipe?”
“That is your method,” he countered. “I followed mine.”
The spoon hovered between them, steam curling upward. She leaned in and tasted it — rich, savoury, perfectly balanced. “Wow. That’s… incredible.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Of course it is.”
She rolled her eyes, but the air between them had shifted. Thickened. There was something about the way he stood there, casual yet entirely focused on her, that sent a shiver down her spine.
Their eyes met and held. The kitchen felt smaller. Warmer. And she knew — knew — that she was sinking deeper than she should. No amount of tea was going to fix this.
⸻
Axir’s POV
She didn’t see it — couldn’t see it — but the moment she walked in, the air changed.
He’d felt her before he heard her. Her presence slid into the room like a soft heat, and every instinct he had roared to attention. He shouldn’t care that her date ended early. Shouldn’t feel that pulse of victory in his chest.
But he did.
And as she stood there, smiling at him over a spoonful of stew, he realised with dangerous clarity:
If she wasn’t careful…
If he wasn’t careful…
This small human was going to undo him completely.