CHAPTER 38: NOT EVERYONE HAS TO BE GREAT AT COOKING

Marron blinked. Boss?

The big man grinned, the kind of grin that softened the lines of his face. "Knew I’d find you all slacking." He swung the pack open and began pulling out neat wooden boxes, each wrapped with cloth ties. "Made lunches."

The apprentices scrambled for them like children, their happiness so palpable that Marron laughed under her breath.

Balen raised his brows. "Well, well. Didn’t expect the mountain-man type to be so delicate."

The man glanced up, unbothered, and handed the last box to Marron. "My name’s Harvey. Master carpenter. These brats are my apprentices." His voice rumbled low, like a saw cutting clean through pine.

Marron accepted the lunchbox and sat on a stool. Inside was plain white rice, a simple salad, and a perfectly salted, pan-fried chicken thigh. No garnish. No fancy plating. Just balance, care, and heart.

She exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. "This is... wonderful."

Harvey’s grin deepened. "My whole life isn’t carpentry. A man’s gotta eat. Recipes are limited, but when these boys came home looking full, I had to see where they were getting fed. I’ve been sick lately, couldn’t cook for them. So I wanted to thank the person who stepped in."

His eyes, steady and kind, held hers for a moment. Marron looked down quickly at the rice, throat tight.

Not a cook, but he still does his best... and they shine because of it.

That felt familiar. Too familiar.

The apprentices were already halfway through their boxes. Harvey leaned over one shoulder, peering at the lumber stacked by the wall. His eyebrows rose.

"Not bad. Straight cuts. Sanded edges. You’re improving." He paused just long enough for their chests to puff with pride. Then he smirked. "Still take you a hundred years before you’re ready to strike out on your own."

"Boss!" they groaned in unison.

Balen chuckled, golden eyes glinting. "That’s the kind of voice that keeps you sharp. Better than any Guild instructor."

Harvey snorted. "Guild instructors? Bah. All talk. These boys don’t need lofty words, they need steady hands. Wood doesn’t care about speeches—it splits when you cut it wrong."

He ruffled the hair of the youngest apprentice, who ducked and laughed. "Stick to the basics until your hands learn for you. That’s how you’ll last."

Marron found herself staring at Harvey. She couldn’t stop.

Here was a man who didn’t dream of culinary greatness, who didn’t care about flashy dishes or Savoria’s food politics. He just wanted to feed his boys. And yet... in his own craft, in carpentry, he shone. His confidence wasn’t arrogance; it was the quiet steadiness of someone who knew his place in the world.

Marron’s chest ached. She thought about her own hands—shaping dough, flipping pancakes, making rolls for Meadowbrook. She thought about her mother, the professional chef she would never quite match.

Maybe... maybe she didn’t need to. Maybe it was enough to feed the people who mattered, the way Harvey did.

When the apprentices finished, Harvey pushed to his feet. "Well. No sense letting that lumber sit. I’ll be staying a few days, boys—we’re going to get that inn patched up proper."

Marron blinked. "You’ll... repair the inn?"

"Of course." He hoisted his pack again like it weighed nothing. "Probably take us three days, maybe four if the beams are worse than they look. Don’t worry, I packed my own sleeping bag." He nodded toward the bulky canvas roll strapped to his pack. "Where do you all sleep?"

"The back of the kitchen," Marron admitted. "We’ve got a campfire and some sleeping bags. Cozy enough."

"Good enough." Harvey gave a decisive nod. "By the end of three days, your inn’ll be fully functional. Travelers will have a roof, and you’ll have your commons."

The apprentices whooped in excitement, voices bouncing off the half-finished beams.

Balen laughed and clapped Harvey on the shoulder. "You, sir, are a breath of fresh air. Reminds me that not everyone’s chasing titles and fame. Sometimes it’s enough to put food in a box and wood on a roof."

"Exactly," Harvey said simply. "Don’t get me wrong—chefs are special, sure. But so are carpenters. So are blacksmiths. So are the folks who plant wheat and the ones who hammer nails. We shine when we do the work only we can do."

Marron’s heart stuttered.

Balen shot her a sidelong grin. "Hear that, Chef Marron? Even if you don’t believe it yet—you’re shining already."

Marron swallowed hard. She couldn’t say it aloud, not yet, but the thought rooted itself in her chest anyway:

Maybe I am.

That night, after the bakery quieted, Marron opened Harvey’s lunchbox again. She ate the last bites of chicken cold, sitting by the campfire with Lucy humming softly beside her jar and Mokko whittling planks with his thick hands.

The food wasn’t complex. It wasn’t a feast. But it was steady. Comforting. Enough.

She thought of Harvey’s words, of his presence, of the way his apprentices leaned into his shadow like it was the safest place in the world.

And for the first time, Marron allowed herself to think—maybe that’s what I want to be, too. A safe place. A steady hand. My craft doesn’t have to be like anyone else’s.

Across the bakery, the firelight flickered on the inn’s unfinished beams, and the roof needed some repair work too.

Somehow, with Harvey’s presence, Meadowbrook Commons felt much warmer. Only the bakery was fully repaired, and they had a lot of work left to do.

But it was starting to feel like home.

And with time, hopefully more people would move in, and then they would have a tiny village.

That would be nice. Like we’re building our own little community. Or a family.

Marron’s vision started to blur then, at that thought. Whisperwind and Snakewater were wonderful towns she loved living in, if only briefly. But it was completely different from a place where she could fully call her own.

I said I wanted to start over in this world. She thought, wiping her tears with a small face towel. But I didn’t realize how much I wanted it until now.

Harvey’s presence (a real master carpenter) made her think it was fully possible now, to have fully repaired houses, restaurants, and food stalls.

In the dead of night, she drafted letters to the Lord Jackal and the Snake Queen, asking them to send three of their best builders, and maybe two tailors.

I humbly request your aid now, she wrote feverishly. I met a master carpenter today, and his love for the craft made me realize I cannot do this on my own. I need people who specialize in buildings, and maybe clothing as well?

Your friend who is forever grateful,

Marron Louvel