The Way Life Goes | Aurelian

        Tuesday, December 1, 1923  

Hyde Park, London
11:00 AM
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"Tell me if the brownies aren't good. I'm trying this new recipe," Rosie frowned at the little bag she nudged towards her friend as they sat on the pink picnic blanket Eira had brought. "It has sea salt in it, and I've never tried baking with it before. I can't imagine salt on chocolate would be good, but the cookbook I have just raves about it." Normally, she used Cassian as her baking guinea pig, but he was working late at the theatre tonight, and she'd rather know sooner than later if she needed to chuck the entire book into the bin.

"You know me," she sighed, stretching her achy legs out in front of her. "I'm very English in my tastes." She leaned forward, rubbing beneath her knee with both ends, grimacing at the pain. Pregnancy had a funny way of exposing aches and pains Rosalie had never felt before, but it was worth it, she supposed, in exchange for a healthy, living baby.

She was three months along now, and while the young woman had done well to hide her symptoms from Eira overall, it was getting to the point that she'd likely start showing soon. Claiming she'd eaten too much would only go so far for so long.

It wasn't that she didn't want to tell Eira - and Kate eventually - but that she worried a bit how they'd react. They were all still young, but it wasn't unheard of for girls their age (or younger) to marry and have babies. Still, Kate had never seemed like the maternal type, and Eira was still Cassian's number one hater on the face of the Earth.

A baby was different though. A baby was something sweet, gentle, innocent. They'd love her baby as much as they loved Rosie, she was sure.

"How's things at home?" she asked, putting off her reason for another few minutes. "Lev sweeping you right off your feet?" She grinned turning to look at Eira. He better be. Otherwise she'd send a wampus cat to his office for his troubles. She was fairly sure Maddox knew where to get one.

“Oh, please.” Eira cast Rosie a meaningful look, her hand already diving into the bag of brownies, but a soft chuckle almost immediately eased her expression. “As if anything you make could ever not be good. Especially the baked stuff. You have never once let me down.”

And if the brownies really did turn out to be a disappointment, it would definitely be the recipe’s fault, not her friend’s.

“Why didn’t you try them yourself?” Eira asked, taking a bite of the sweet treat as she leaned back on her free hand, legs stretched out, ankles crossed. “If I were to bake something, it’d be gone in five minutes.”

Or five seconds. Just like this first brownie.

Eira was already reaching for the next one. “Rosie, these are great.” Despite her earlier confidence, her tone held a subtle note of surprise. “Sea salt?” Eira took another bite, savouring the sweetness of the chocolate as it melted with a gentle hint of saltiness beneath, a combination she herself wouldn’t have tried hadn’t it been for Rosie. “You might have to reconsider your tastes.”

The second piece was finished too soon. Before she could eat the entire bag in one go, Eira pushed it towards Rosie, out of reach, a safe distance. Wouldn’t want to get round in the middle now. To keep from reaching out again, she leaned back onto both her hands.

"How's things at home? Lev sweeping you right off your feet?”

A sly grin spread across her lips as Eira looked around at her friend, a twinkle in her eye. “More so than he did before,” she said, deliberately aloof, giving her hair a soft shake. She shrugged lightly, quirking an eyebrow. “But there is always room for improvement, isn’t there?” She giggled softly, but she was only half joking.

Even though things have taken a considerable turn for the better, Eira couldn’t help focusing on the parts that still hurt sometimes. Like that empty feeling on her finger. She tried not to dwell on those gaps, though. A year ago, her life had been hell. Anything was better than that.

Eira pushed the thought aside and smiled at Rosie.

“And you? I think it’s quite pointless to ask if Cassian is still sweeping you off your feet.” An amused grin returned. “Is the cottage still standing? Or did his questionable handiwork catch up with him yet?”