Silence ate up the air between us, and I watched the eggs turn bright white and sunny yellow over the stove’s heat.
“How long will it last, do you think? Your infirmity?” Sayla asked at length.
My shoulders rolled in a shrug. “Maybe forever.”
I cleared my sore throat and gave a cough that prompted Sayla to side-eye me. Kit did the same at every wheeze and gritty gasp. I really didn’t want anyone else looking at me like I was broken, so I reached into my thoughts for the one thing most apt to distract her.
“Congratulations on your engagement.”
The silver chain glittered on her wrist. So finely made, and Warren had been so proud to present it. I hoped he didn’t regret his proposal, and that my trouble didn’t leave a stain on my sister’s good name. Till now, I hadn’t considered that Kit might not be the only man who should question tethering himself to the Oliver family.
Sayla touched her wrist while wearing the sweetest smile.
It was a relief to see the happy event hadn’t been entirely ruined, in her mind at least.
“Will he be back?” I asked, hedging around my larger concerns. “To help with… planting?”
She laughed. “Yes, Pen, I believe he will. Unlike you, he takes some enjoyment in these things. He has a good head for?—”
“Monotony?” I interjected.
Sayla rolled her eyes. “I was going to say business. Practical things.”
I hummed acknowledgement while she scooped biscuit dough into a second skillet, crowding the lumps together in a tight spiral.
“You aren’t practical, Pen,” she continued. “You never have been. But, as for Warren’s return, I expect him any minute. I invited him to breakfast.”
Frowning, I counted the eggs in my pan. I hadn’t paid much attention to the quantity before, but I hoped it would be enough.
With the biscuits portioned, Sayla squeezed in beside me to tuck her pan into the belly of the stove. “Don’t fret. Kit seems plenty practical for the both of you, and I don’t think he minds that you’re not.”
“I hope you’re right,” I replied.
Sayla dusted her hands down her apron, then tugged it off over her head. As she returned it to the hook on the wall, she shot back, “Iamright. Nearly always. But I do think he’s been good for you. Anyone who helps you stand up to Merrick the way you did at dinner must be good.”
“He’s goodtome too,” I murmured, forgoing the eggs to touch my own bracelet, the leather soft against my skin.
The scuffling of footsteps announced Kit’s approach. I turned toward him with a shy smile, finding him looking fresher after a night’s rest, and quite a bit cleaner. That was not to last, though.The rain had let up, but the ground outside was still wet and boggy. It was bound to be a hard day of work for us both.
He padded over to me, still a bit drowsy with his typically sharp eyes half-lidded. Sleepy morning Kit was a rare sight, since he usually rose hours before I did, so I cherished this soft, dreamy state. His arms wound around me, and I nosed into his neck, feeling his body heat and sniffing at his skin that smelled like soap from his midnight bath.
“Mister Mosel, we were just talking about you,” Sayla chirped.
“Oh?” Kit mumbled, then turned to kiss my cheek.
Sayla bobbed her head. “Only good things.”
Gradually, Kit pulled away, letting his arm drag across my back. He would be wanting coffee, but I caught his hand to keep him by my side, hungry for a few more moments of proximity. Of comfort.
“Can I help?” He motioned to the stove and the pan of eggs.
“No need,” Sayla replied before I could. “Pen and I have things well in hand. Your only concern should be feeding those muscles. Gods know we’ll be putting them to use.”
Kit huffed what might have been a laugh, but he stayed in place beside me, unmoving until a knock at the door startled us all.
Cold shot through me at the sound, and my heart dropped into my feet. I looked toward the entry, imagining any manner of unwelcome visitors waiting outside.
It could be Merrick. Or the militia. Or Merrickwiththe militia, armed with enough evidence to arrest Kit and me on the spot.
