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It was all George’s fault, really.
The whole thing was technically his idea to begin with. That Lockwood was an avid opportunist was no fault of his. He had many faults, certainly, but that was decidedly not one of them.
And what of Lucy? If she had shown any indication that she was really upset with him, he would have stopped the game immediately. But he knew what she was like when she fought back at him, and this certainly wasn’t that.
He wouldn’t yet let himself believe that she enjoyed it as much he did . . . but he hoped. Quietly, secretly, so that he barely even knew the hope was there.
For now, it was enough to enjoy it while it lasted.
-
It all started when Lucy, after much consistent badgering, convinced George to let her help him in the kitchen and actually pick up some real cooking skills for herself. After an evening of her practically begging all the way through supper, he relented.
“Fine. But know this: I reserve the right to forcibly remove you from the kitchen by any means necessary if I feel, at any time, that you are impeding my process. I can excuse a mistake or two, but I will not allow any intentional disturbances. And you must take direction, Lucy. No second-guessing me or I’ll lock you out of the house.”
“He really will,” Lockwood chimed in from where he was bent over the sink, washing dishes. “He’s done so to me multiple times.”
“Because you are a bloody nuisance, and you have no respect for my perfectly clear and reasonable rules.”
“What are the rules?” Lucy asked, glancing from Lockwood’s cheeky grin to George’s responding lethal glare. Both were highly entertaining.
“Perfectly clear and reasonable,” George muttered.
“Right, I got that, but what actually are they?”
Lockwood spun around from the sink, scattering a few suds from his hands, and recited, “Number one: absolutely no tasting allowed for anyone but the head chef. Number two: following the recipe is not strictly required, but deviating is only allowed when the head chef provides alternative instructions. Number three—”
“This is the one that got him banned from the kitchen,” George whispered darkly to Lucy.
“Banned?”
“Number three,” Lockwood repeated loudly. “Precise measurements are strictly required for all but those authorized by the head chef.”
Lucy blinked. “Precise measurements . . . right, so what exactly did you screw up?”
“I can understand fudging with, say, vanilla extract or garlic,” George snapped, “but flour? Are you out of your bloody mind?”
Lockwood held up his hands defensively. “I was only—”
Lucy feigned a gasp and put a hand over her heart, trying to hide her amusement. “Flour? Lockwood, how dare you?”
“Thank you!” George cried. “He really is a monster. And see that?” He pointed at Lucy while continuing to glare at Lockwood “She’s already off to a much better start than you ever were.”
“You wound me, Karim. Deeply and without regard.”
Waiting until George was no longer glowering at him, Lockwood gave Lucy a wink and a grin. He was rewarded with that smile of hers that he couldn’t help but adore; that little quirk at the corner of her mouth that hinted at mischief and amusement just barely below the surface. Accompanied by the sparkle in her eyes that sent a wave of gleeful warmth to his face.
Unfortunately, George was now standing up from his seat at the table and was looking in Lockwood’s direction once more.
“You two are absolutely insufferable,” George muttered under his breath, very clearly directed at Lockwood but just loud enough to ensure that Lucy heard as well.
The resulting wave of heat in Lockwood’s face was much less enjoyable, so he responded by spinning back around to the sink and turning on the faucet as far as it would go, loudly banging several dishes around for good measure.
-
Lucy’s formal training under George began the following afternoon. Lockwood returned from a shopping trip to find the two of them in frighteningly deep concentration over an open cookbook in the kitchen. George shot Lockwood a warning glare as he entered, laden with packages, while Lucy didn’t look up at him at all.
“And so it begins,” Lockwood hummed as he began to put away the bags of groceries he’d brought in.
“Ignore him, Lucy.” The order came from George.
“Done.” Lucy nodded, still studying the cookbook.
Lockwood grinned to himself as he finished stowing everything in its proper place. He had nothing else to do on this particular afternoon, so he stowed himself in the corner by the basement door and watched, casually leaning against the wall.
“I have done nothing objectionable,” he said when George looked as if he wanted to remove him from the kitchen entirely. “I only want to watch. See how she does.” He added that last bit in just to see if Lucy would react. But her back was turned to him, and she said nothing. George looked proud.
True to his word, Lockwood stayed out of the way and did nothing but watch during Lucy’s first lesson. George seemed to forget entirely that he was there. He and Lucy were surprisingly in sync; Lockwood had never seen the two so cooperative with each other. Not even during casework.
And whether or not Lockwood tried to catch Lucy’s eye a few times and give her a disarming (and hopefully distracting) smile was inconsequential. All she did was turn abruptly away from him and refocus on whatever task George had given her in the cooking process. But every time she did, Lockwood could swear he saw a hint of that mischievous smile of hers.
That, of course, was all the encouragement he needed.
-
Everyone in 35 Portland Row was a bit surprised at the success of Lucy and George as a duo in the kitchen, including Lucy herself. In almost no time at all, they were able to function like a commercial kitchen, with Lucy often anticipating what George expected of her without him needing to say anything. On days when he had nothing more pressing to do, Lockwood often found himself back in the corner of the kitchen, watching in awe at the efficiency of his friends. Most of the time, he was content to stay on the outside.
Today, however, he was bored.
As George and Lucy went about preparing a very complex dessert George had been wanting to try, Lockwood watched from the corner as normal. Well, perhaps his gaze lingered on Lucy a bit, but there was a reason for that.
A large bowl full of some irresistible-looking batter was sitting in the middle of the kitchen table.
All he had to do was wait.
When the moment came that George’s back was turned and he was sure Lucy would see, Lockwood sprang forward as lightly as a fox and dipped a finger into the bowl, and was just as quickly back in his corner. He licked the sweet batter off his finger, grinning widely at an open-mouthed Lucy, who darted a glance back at George. But George was busy searching the spice shelf for something and hadn’t seen a thing.
To Lockwood’s utter delight, Lucy’s eyes were bright and sparking with unspoken admonishments, but she couldn’t stop that smile.
He’ll kill you, she mouthed soundlessly to him.
Will you?
Lockwood shot her his most devious wink.
Lucy’s mouth dropped open again, and her eyes took on a new light. Now she understood.
At that moment, George turned back around. Lockwood dropped the dangerous grin he’d been beaming and his face became a vision of neutrality. Lucy shook her head slightly and returned to what she’d been doing. But Lockwood saw a change in her movements, like she was anticipating something. She darted more than one glance in his direction, and her mouth was taut with a barely concealed grin. She was dancing on the line between amused and annoyed.
Perfect.
At the very next opportunity he got, Lockwood did it again, stealing an even larger amount of batter. George had his back turned and was busy checking the temperature of something he’d pulled out of the oven, and Lucy couldn’t do a thing without drawing his attention. She took a threatening step toward Lockwood as he silently dove back into his corner, but that was all she could do. Lockwood put a hand over his mouth to conceal his laughter at her frustration.
He had to admit, part of him was rather pleased that she hadn’t betrayed him to George just yet. It meant that she must not completely despise his lingering presence in the kitchen while she worked.
But another part of him wanted to know exactly how far he could go before he was caught, or she betrayed him.
Two more times he successfully nipped batter out from under George’s nose, in full view of an ever-agitated Lucy. She looked ready to beat him with a spatula after the last one.
Which, of course, gave him an idea for one more try.
“Hey!” The shout finally came from Lucy, who had had enough of Lockwood’s antics as he dove back to the table. She swatted sharply at his hand with a spatula.
Obviously not anticipating that he, too, was armed.
Her spatula met the wooden spoon he’d snatched from the table with a solid clack, which quickly turned into series of clacks as an impromptu fencing match began in the middle of the kitchen. Lockwood’s spoon was covered in some kind of meringue, so he ducked and jabbed and tried to get as much of it as possible on Lucy, who was throwing herself into the same strategy with gusto. Lockwood’s white shirt was quickly spattered with a chocolatey substance.
Forgetting completely that there was another person in the kitchen besides himself and Lucy, Lockwood found himself beaming as Lucy broke into a very uncharacteristic fit of giggles as they sparred, leaving herself wide open for him to fling a sizable dollop of meringue directly onto her nose. He laughed as she spluttered and tried to wipe it off—
“Enough!”
Both parties stilled immediately at the shout. George stood over by the stove, looking deeply annoyed. He gave Lucy a withering glare of disappointment, and Lockwood a look that was probably meant to shame him. It only slightly worked.
“Both of you. Basement. Now.” George stood with his hands on his hips as he growled.
Lucy blinked, still looking rather absurd with meringue on her nose. “Wha—”
“You two clearly have a wealth of energy to burn, so I am locking you in the training room—where we have actual rapiers, instead of my bloody utensils, thank you—until I am finished in here.” George crossed the kitchen and snatched the spoon and spatula out of Lucy and Lockwood’s hands.
“But I—” Lucy protested.
“No second-guessing! I’ve had quite enough of you two disturbing my art. I will see you in an hour. Now go.” With that, George shoved them both in the direction of the basement door, leaving them no room but to obey.
The sound of the door locking behind them was clear as they made their way down the metal staircase.
Then they weren’t sure what to do.
There was a moment where they stood looking at each other at the bottom of the steps, eyes still bright from their interrupted duel. There was something different, something dark and lovely about Lucy’s eyes that Lockwood hadn’t seen before. He studied her for as long as he dared, but found himself fixated on a smidge of meringue on Lucy’s cheek that she didn’t seem to be aware of. He felt the desire to reach up and—
“Come on, then.” Lucy huffed as she turned away from him and strode over to the rapier rack and took her pick. She looked at him expectantly as he lingered by the stairs. “Well?”
Lockwood blinked, his mind feeling slightly clouded. “Right.”
He had to admit, getting locked in the basement with Lucy had not been part of his original plan.
But he wasn’t complaining.
-
The sounds of fierce dueling filled the basement, as well occasional instruction and reminders from Lockwood and some subtly snarky countering from Lucy. They were both breathing hard and damp with sweat after a few matches; Lockwood had shed his dress shirt early on and fought in a soft white t-shirt. Lucy very quickly found that her sweater was not at all appropriate attire for dueling, and had removed it to reveal a dark teal tank top underneath, a color that Lockwood thought looked lovely on her. He had even tried to tell her so, but she had rolled her eyes and lunged at him with her rapier, catching him off guard and telling him that flattery would get him nowhere.
Naturally, he responded by advancing on her relentlessly and backing her into the wall, rapiers crossed in front of them as she tried to hold him back.
“Luckily for me, I don’t usually have to rely on flattery to get me anywhere,” Lockwood joked between breaths.
“Oh. So that was a genuine compliment, then?” Lucy asked.
“It was, yes. In fact—close your eyes for a second.”
If he hadn’t been so focused, Lockwood might have noticed the red flush creeping up Lucy’s neck as she blinked in confusion. But she did as he asked, still held firmly against the wall.
“Are you wearing blue eyeliner?” Lockwood asked, somewhat transfixed.
Now she laughed, opening her eyes. “Yes. I picked it up at the shops the other day, on a whim. I thought it might be fun to try. It’s rather—”
“—electric,” Lockwood finished for her, giving her a smile that was probably far too flirtatious and relishing in the red that dusted her cheeks.
“I was going to say ‘different’, for me. And no, I tried the electric blue. It didn’t work too well. Looked a bit tacky.” She gave him a cheeky grin.
“Oh, well. I’m sure this one looks much better on you, anyways.”
Lockwood had meant the words to sound playful, but they came out dangerously sincere. He felt heat blooming on his face, and was suddenly acutely aware of the fact that he was still holding Lucy pinned against the wall.
There was, maybe, something to be said about the fact that she hadn’t yet pushed him away.
And that line of thinking was what caused his eyes to betray him.
With his heart pounding absurdly hard, he darted a treacherous glance at her mouth. Her soft lips were parted as she tried to catch her breath. When he looked back up and found her dark eyes fixated on him, he felt weak in the knees.
Which was probably why he nearly fainted when the basement door was suddenly flung open, with a shout of “Your banishment is over!” from George.
Lockwood backed away from Lucy as if she were on fire, feeling noticeably dizzy. He tossed his rapier into the rack and brought the hem of his shirt up to wipe the sweat from his face. Certainly not to hide his face, which felt extremely hot.
The one glance he dared give to Lucy, who seemed equally off-balance, showed her face flushed a deep red.
Lockwood told himself that it was probably just from the exertion.
-
Despite the upset during the baking process, George’s dessert came out absolutely divine. After stuffing themselves full, the three retired to the library, where they lounged and enjoyed their rare night off from hunting spirits. Lucy eventually announced that she was heading upstairs to shower and then to bed, so Lockwood and George bade her goodnight.
George caught Lockwood’s gaze following Lucy out of the room and scoffed.
Lockwood shot him a look. “What?”
George shook his head. “You could at least thank me, you know.”
“What for?”
“Oh, don’t even bother pretending. It’s written all over your face.”
Lockwood felt indignation rear its head. “What are you talking about?”
“If you’re going to be like this, I’ll never lock you down there with her again. I do actually enjoy having her in the kitchen, you know. But I gave that up for you. You’re welcome.” George grabbed a magazine and held it open in front of his face.
Lockwood huffed sharply and stood, feeling rather hot and bothered. “I don’t have any idea what you’re—”
“Lockwood.” George groaned in annoyance. “Just say ‘thanks’ and let it go. What do you think I’m going to do? Raise a fuss? I don’t bloody care one way or the other. Just so long as you stop pretending like I’m an idiot who can’t see two centimeters in front of my face.”
Lockwood had made it to the doorway, where he stood with his back to George. He wrestled internally with what George had said and what he wanted to say.
Eventually, he managed a quiet “thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” George replied levelly.
Then, feeling the heat begin to creep up his face once more, Lockwood left the room.
He was halfway up the stairs when George shouted, probably loud enough for Lucy to hear all the way in the attic, “There! That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
The resounding door slam that came as a response from Lockwood’s door left George cackling.