A Gift of Gratitude
The afternoon was quiet.
Everything felt so ordinary that yesterday might as well have been a dream.
Lowen watched Ariel beneath the shade of a tree, listening to a little child's story. Each time the grass stirred, her slender silver hair fluttered in the soft breeze. Her violet eyes, the color of bellflowers, were smiling—and that smile held grains of warm light and a gentle wash of soft color.
"Can you cook, Saintess?"
At the child's question, Ariel flinched in surprise. She had never cooked before. She had briefly lived in a convent before becoming a Saintess, but she had been so young then that washing potatoes in the kitchen was the full extent of her culinary skill. Cleaning ingredients thoroughly was important, of course—but calling that cooking was a little embarrassing.
"Are you curious about cooking?"
Instead of answering about her own abilities, Ariel asked after the intent behind the question.
"Yes!"
The little child clenched both fists and nodded with all her might.
"I want to give Mom a dish I made myself as a gift."
"A cooking gift—how admirable."
Ariel gently stroked the child's head.
"My grandma taught me. She said when you want to show gratitude, giving someone a dish you made yourself is the best!"
Hearing that, Lowen rose unbidden in Ariel's mind. She had forgotten to thank him. He had set aside his own embarrassment to help her—so she needed to express her gratitude properly. She snuck a glance toward where he stood.
"Haha, thank you."
Lowen, holding a basket heaped with tomatoes, was surrounded by village aunties who had come to the cathedral to pray, smiling brightly. That gentle, courteous way of speaking. That tall, well-proportioned frame and those solidly broad shoulders. A soft smile that melted naturally into a masculine face. No wonder the village aunties gathered around him.
Sensing her gaze, Lowen turned his head toward the place where he felt eyes on him. Their eyes met. The instant they locked, Ariel startled like someone caught in a crime and whipped her head away. When she snuck another look, he was already back to chatting with the aunties.
"A cooking gift…"
It wasn't only yesterday's chaos. There were countless everyday things she ought to thank Lowen for. Being grateful that he came to wake her in the morning. Grateful that he prepared delicious meals every day. Grateful that he did the laundry and cleaned so thoroughly. Grateful that he pretended not to notice even when she masturbated. In short, there was a mountain of things she needed to thank him for.
The tomatoes gifted by the village aunties. They had given so many that even eating nothing but tomatoes for several days wouldn't finish them all.
"I'll put half in salads or sandwiches… hmm… and make the other half into sauce?"
Lowen began making tomato sauce while preparing dinner. He washed the tomatoes clean and scored them with an X, then briefly blanched them in a bubbling pot and peeled off the skins. Just a light blanching made the skins slip right off—though they were hot, so care was needed.
Chop, chop.
He finely chopped the peeled tomatoes, put them in the pot, and mashed them with a spatula. It would have been nice to remove the seeds, but unfortunately the cathedral had no tool for straining them out. Finally, just add lemon juice, sugar, and salt, then simmer—and a delicious tomato sauce would be complete.
While he was simmering the tomatoes, Ariel came into the kitchen.
"Bishop Lowen, what are you doing?"
With her hands clasped behind her back, she hopped and peeked from behind him.
"I'm making sauce from the tomatoes we received this afternoon."
"Wow, you can make that too?"
"As long as you know the recipe, it isn't difficult."
Lowen scooped a little tomato sauce with a spoon and held it out to her.
"Ah—just a moment."
He blew on it gently so she wouldn't burn the roof of her mouth.
"Haum… hooo!"
Tasting the sauce, Ariel cupped both cheeks at the surprisingly sweet and tangy flavor.
"How is it? Does it taste good?"
"It's really delicious! I've never had tomato sauce this good!"
Lowen was pleased by her sparkling reaction.
"You're exaggerating."
"No. It's the best. Not a single bit of exaggeration."
Her tail had clearly disappeared, yet it still seemed as if one remained at her rear, wagging rapidly.
"So are you going to make something delicious with this today?"
Ariel looked back and forth between Lowen and the tomato sauce with eyes bright with anticipation.
"I was thinking of making omelets."
"Omelets!"
"So go upstairs and rest. I'll call you when it's ready."
"Okay!"
About to head up to her bedroom to rest until dinner was ready, as usual, Ariel suddenly stopped. She had remembered what she'd heard that afternoon—the little child's words: When you want to show gratitude, giving a dish you made yourself is the best!
"Bishop Lowen!"
She spun around and went back to him.
"I want to try making the omelets too."
"You, Saintess?"
"Yes. I've been wanting to try."
Ariel was serious. Just looking at her eyes, she had the air of someone about to beg a master chef, Please take me as your disciple!
"…Is that not allowed?"
Clasping both hands tightly together, she looked up at Lowen and tilted her head.
"There's no reason it wouldn't be."
It was the first time Ariel had shown interest in cooking.
"Let's make them together."
A Saintess living in a grand cathedral would have had all her meals prepared by others, so she would never have had the chance to cook. And since the ideal Saintess was imagined as multi-talented, he thought it would be good for her to have at least minimal cooking skills. Lowen was here not simply to care for Ariel, but to turn a masturbation-addicted lazybones into a diligent, ideal Saintess. Thinking of it that way, her wanting to try making omelets was welcome news.
Following Lowen's instructions, Ariel began. Looking at the overall recipe, omelets weren't a difficult dish. Beat the eggs smoothly, make a scramble in a heated pan, then shape it nicely—that was it.
"Ugh… it's not working…"
Even if the recipe itself was easy, shaping an omelet prettily was difficult for a beginner. Forming that fluffy-looking round shape required skill. Done wrong, the form could break, or a side could split and the scramble inside spill out.
"I'll help you."
Lowen stood behind her and took hold of her hands.
"Hic!"
When his large hand covered the back of hers, Ariel flinched and her shoulders trembled. Her already small hands felt even smaller. More than anything, Lowen's body heat right behind her brought last night flooding back. His firm body came unbidden to mind—his erect lower half, the sticky white fluid—and her heart pounded wildly.
"Like this."
Holding her hands, Lowen skillfully shaped the omelet. With light taps of the pan, the misshapen thing transformed into a pretty round form. But Ariel couldn't focus on it. She kept her head bowed and her shoulders hunched.
What if he hears my heartbeat?
The rapture of yesterday—when she first took a man's member in her mouth—kept surfacing, and her heart would not stay still. It had been too stimulating. And stimulating things were always sweet. For Ariel, who loved sweet things, the memory of fellatio was deeply etched in her mind.
A cock wasn't delicious the way it was described in erotic novels. But the mere fact of having taken one in her mouth and drunk the semen discharged from the urethra created a powerful sense of transgression. Her lower belly itched with need. She felt disgust at herself for having lewd thoughts even in this situation—but that was all. Right now her mind was a sticky mix of the wish to take Lowen's massive cock in her mouth again like yesterday, and the vulgar hope that he would suck on her pussy.
Pathetic. Truly pathetic.
While she was thinking such things with her head bowed, Lowen's hand stroked her hair.
"Everyone finds it difficult at first. I'll teach you again, so don't look so dejected."
Because he thought the reason she had her head down was that the omelet wasn't turning out as she'd hoped, Lowen soothed her.
"Ah…"
When his hand touched her head, the filthy, lewd fantasies that had been making her heart race scattered and vanished like mist blown by the wind.
"I'll finish the rest, so please take a seat, Saintess."
"Okay…"
Sitting down, Ariel closed her eyes and calmed herself. Yesterday had been a special case. Lowen had stepped in to save her from the Absorbing Spirit Cat—she mustn't twist that sacrifice into something strange.
"It's ready."
A yellow omelet covered in thick tomato sauce.
"Thank you for the meal."
Ariel scooped a little with her spoon and tasted it. A fluffy texture. Sweet and tangy tomato sauce. But for some reason, it tasted a little more bitter than when she'd first tried it.
"Haaa…"
Ariel flopped onto the bed. Originally she had planned to wait until Lowen fell asleep, then spend the night devouring the erotic novels she'd received as gifts and indulging in masturbation—but she wasn't in the mood. It felt as if a deep valley had opened in her emotions.
"I need to pull myself together… How long am I going to stay stuck on yesterday…"
Staring blankly at the ceiling, she scolded herself under her breath.
"That's it…!"
After wandering in circles, she came back around and resolved to make tomorrow's breakfast as a thank-you gift for Lowen.
"And this…!"
Ariel lifted the box she had received as a final gift from Clea. Nightwear to put on when expressing gratitude. It was a gift of unknown nature, but since it was supposedly for wearing when conveying thanks, she decided to put it on and serve Lowen breakfast tomorrow.
"Even if all I can make is a mess of an omelet…"