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Greta knows better than to wish for things. At the very least, she knows to be careful of what you wish for, having been burned so many times on that particular crucible. So it had been almost a point of pride when her sphere of most immediate concern managed to escape that most recent bout of Darrow nonsense. Life in the cottage remained mercifully normal.
Life at work, however, had not. She'd watched the Gardens empty, their charges carried off by a sudden flood of public interest. While it had been wonderful to see the children adopted, part of her had wondered if she'd be out of a job with only one or two mouths to feed. But Baz and Simon had (somewhat sheepishly) insisted that things would turn around, so she'd taken the opportunity to do some deep cleaning and a bit of reorganizing.
(Magic could have probably helped on both fronts, but while she's grown far more blase about magic since she arrived here, she still can't quite bring herself to encourage its use in the kitchen. Some things just shouldn't be mixed with food.)
True to their prediction, children have started to trickle back in, to Greta's relief. And though they aren't explicitly encouraged to invade the kitchen, Greta doesn't mind visitors. Her current company is an eight-year-old named Elizabeth, and after a few minutes of conversation, Greta deemed her responsible enough to know where the snacks are kept. She's midway through showing off the reorganized pantry when she spots Baz's familiar silhouette in the doorway, and then she straightens.
"Oh, hello, Baz," she says, resting a reassuring hand on Elizabeth's shoulder, lest the girl worry that they've been caught out. "I was just showing Elizabeth this beautifully organized pantry. Which just so happens to contain the snacks." The girl looks up at her, a smile tucked behind her hand, then fixes Baz with what Greta can only imagine is the most innocent look in her arsenal.
Life at work, however, had not. She'd watched the Gardens empty, their charges carried off by a sudden flood of public interest. While it had been wonderful to see the children adopted, part of her had wondered if she'd be out of a job with only one or two mouths to feed. But Baz and Simon had (somewhat sheepishly) insisted that things would turn around, so she'd taken the opportunity to do some deep cleaning and a bit of reorganizing.
(Magic could have probably helped on both fronts, but while she's grown far more blase about magic since she arrived here, she still can't quite bring herself to encourage its use in the kitchen. Some things just shouldn't be mixed with food.)
True to their prediction, children have started to trickle back in, to Greta's relief. And though they aren't explicitly encouraged to invade the kitchen, Greta doesn't mind visitors. Her current company is an eight-year-old named Elizabeth, and after a few minutes of conversation, Greta deemed her responsible enough to know where the snacks are kept. She's midway through showing off the reorganized pantry when she spots Baz's familiar silhouette in the doorway, and then she straightens.
"Oh, hello, Baz," she says, resting a reassuring hand on Elizabeth's shoulder, lest the girl worry that they've been caught out. "I was just showing Elizabeth this beautifully organized pantry. Which just so happens to contain the snacks." The girl looks up at her, a smile tucked behind her hand, then fixes Baz with what Greta can only imagine is the most innocent look in her arsenal.
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Date: 2018-09-15 06:24 pm (UTC)From:Maybe it's just that Baz and Simon have been acting married for as long as she's known them. It was easy to forget that they technically weren't.
Chuckling, she adds, "Well, I'm glad Simon enjoyed it. Have you told anyone else? Should I be keeping it under my hat?" She knows how quickly rumors can fly, especially here. If a child overhears something after breakfast, the whole place will have heard it before lunch -- probably in song form.