Clumsy Cookie

The arrival of the handmade cookies brought a delicate, almost palpable stillness to the living room.

I gazed at Ella’s clear, expectant eyes, so innocent they resembled a small animal’s. For the first time, I felt a flicker of doubt about my own icy, unyielding facade.

‘Could anyone truly bring themselves to refuse such a gaze?’

‘Certainly, the librarian I once was would never have been able to.’

But the person I was now, was Lilliana.

“I never consume such things.”

I spoke, my voice as smooth and utterly devoid of warmth as a frozen winter lake.

The anticipation on Ella’s face instantly froze.

The hand holding the cookies trembled slightly, and the bright sparkle in her eyes rapidly dimmed, like two candle flames flickering precariously in a gust of wind.

“Ah… is, is that so… Of course, a young lady like Miss Eckhart would certainly… certainly not be accustomed to such humble sweets.”

Her voice dropped, tinged with an unmistakable disappointment.

“My apologies, I… I was inconsiderate.”

She lowered her head, her long, cherry-blossom pink hair falling forward to obscure her expression.

An air of palpable awkwardness permeated the entire living room.

Standing not far away, Anna was so tense she barely dared to breathe.

Observing Ella’s crestfallen demeanor…

To my surprise, a pang of utterly ill-timed reluctance stirred within me.

‘Had I spoken too harshly?’

Just as my resolve wavered, and I considered finding a way to backtrack, Ella unexpectedly rallied her spirits.

She took a deep breath, and when she lifted her head again, a smile—a little forced, perhaps, but still radiant—had returned to her face.

“It’s alright! Even if you don’t eat them, my gratitude has still been conveyed!”

She carefully placed the packet of cookies on the furthest corner of the coffee table from me, then addressed me.

“Then, I won’t disturb your rest any further! Thank you again for your help this morning! I’ll take my leave now!”

With that, she bowed deeply to me once more, then turned, clearly intending to escape this place that made her feel so utterly out of place.

Her decisiveness, surprisingly, caught me off guard.

Just as she was about to reach the doorway, I spoke again, on an impulse I couldn’t explain.

“…Wait.”

Ella’s footsteps halted.

She turned back, looking at me with a hint of confusion.

My gaze fell upon the packet of cookies she had placed in the corner of the coffee table.

“…Anna,”

I commanded the maid standing nearby.

“Brew a fresh pot of black tea.”

“Oh?” Anna froze, startled.

“And then,”

I averted my gaze from Ella’s face, which was etched with confusion, and spoke in an unquestionable tone.

“Bring that up.”

Anna’s body visibly stiffened.

Yet, she immediately understood my meaning. A complex expression flitted across her face before she quickly bowed and retreated.

Ella stood rooted to her spot, unable to advance or retreat, utterly bewildered by what was happening.

I paid her no further mind.

“…”

“…”

Silence once again enveloped the living room, until Anna returned, walking briskly with a silver tray.

Upon the tray sat not only a freshly brewed pot of black tea, emanating a rich aroma, but also an elegant three-tiered dessert stand.

The stand, however, did not hold the opulent French pastries typically produced in the Duke’s kitchens.

Instead, it bore handmade cookies that were slightly burnt, their shapes uneven, and looked almost identical to the packet I had given Anna.

Ella’s eyes instantly widened.

She stared incredulously at the dessert stand, then at me, as if to confirm she wasn’t dreaming.

“This is…?”

“Anna baked these yesterday.”

I picked up the black tea Anna had poured for me, took a delicate sip, and explained in a calm tone.

“She burnt them by accident, and they were going to be thrown away. I felt… it would be too wasteful to discard them.”

‘This was a lie.’

‘In truth, I had specifically instructed the kitchen to prepare the ingredients yesterday, all to placate the maid I had frightened, and then guided her hand…’

‘Alright, mostly by verbal instruction, to have her bake them.’

‘Though their appearance was not ideal, the taste was surprisingly good.’

Anna stood nearby, head bowed, a blush spreading across her cheeks, yet wisely remained silent.

I set down my teacup, extended a hand clad in a white lace glove, and picked up the most burnt cookie from the dessert stand.

Then, under Ella’s gaze—shocked to the point of stupefaction—I removed my glove, placed the cookie, which looked both dry and hard, into my mouth, and slowly began to chew.

‘It was fragrant.’

‘It carried the warm, distinctive aroma of wheat and butter, simple yet rich.’

“…The taste is acceptable.”

I offered a fair assessment, one that was nonetheless sufficient to send Ella’s worldview into a violent tremor.

Then, I lifted my eyes, looking at her, and at the packet of cookies she had placed in the corner of the coffee table.

“Bring your portion over as well.”

I stated.

“Since they are all things meant to be discarded, you wouldn’t mind an extra serving, would you?”

Ella was utterly dumbfounded.

Her brain, it seemed, had entered a state of shutdown from receiving too much paradigm-shifting information.

Blankly, like a manipulated puppet, she simply walked forward and placed her own packet of cookies, carefully wrapped in a handkerchief, onto the opulent dessert stand.

Thus, an utterly bizarre scene unfolded in the luxurious living room of the Duke of Eckhart’s daughter.

Two young women who should have been rivals, without a word, silently shared a pot of black tea, and…

…two plates of handmade cookies, whose appearance was concerning, yet carried the same clumsy charm.

I said nothing more, simply drinking my tea in silence.

Ella, meanwhile, after recovering from the initial shock, secretly gazed at me with a sparkling, entirely new kind of look.

That gaze no longer seemed to hold fear or aloofness.

Instead, it was replaced by something… far more dangerous.

A blend of curiosity, gratitude, adoration…

…and a fervent emotion, almost overflowing, called yearning.

She seemed to have peered through my cold, hard facade and imagined a Lilliana who was outwardly cold but inwardly warm… someone poor at expressing herself, but actually very gentle.

I, however, remained completely oblivious to this.

I simply felt that the afternoon sun, this particular day, seemed a little more scorching than usual.