“Back in Ashpoint?”
He nodded. “I miss getting time to ourselves. Not having to worry about what people can hear from the next room.” His hand found mine and squeezed. “I’ve missedyou. I didn’t realize how much until we were in town.”
It almost hurt worse to know that I wasn’t the only one who noticed the distance between us for the last week, especially sincehewas the one who put it there. He’d devoted so much of his energy to trying to please his family that there was no time left for the two of us. I knew it was temporary, so I’d let it go. But I found myself missing Ashpoint, too. Longing for the quiet moments when we curled up on the couch after supper or tangled together in bed.
I dragged my free hand through his hair and scrubbed my fingertips against his scalp. “I’m always here, sweetheart. Whenever you need.”
He turned to nuzzle his face into my shoulder. “I don’t know how I ever lived here,” he mumbled. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to live here again. It’s suffocating.”
This was the side of Penny that I wished his mother could see: the son crushed under the weight of unwanted responsibility. The kind, gentle soul whose light was being snuffed out little by little each day he was expected to be someone he wasn’t. The man I loved for his buoyancy and spontaneity, and who was shriveling under familial expectations.
It was the most honest he’d ever been, and my heart ached for the joyous homecoming he’d craved but didn’t get.
“We’ll find a way to have our own space,” I said. “There’s room to build a second living area apart from the main house.”
Penny looked at me, weary. “That’s not what I mean, Kit.”
“I know.” I eased him back so I could sit up, and the moment there was space, he folded himself into my lap and tucked his head against my neck.
“Give it time,” I told him, stroking through his hair. “We can make this work, and then you’ll wonder how you ever lived away from here.”
“But neither of us want to be farmers.”
I shrugged. “Well then, we’ll open a bakery, and Warren can take over the farm.”
That earned me a chuckle.
“He’s worse at farming than I am.” Penny traced his fingers across my collarbone and around to cup my jaw as he leaned back. A soft smile settled on his lips. “But I like the way you think.”
I tipped my head to rest against his. “I love you, Pen. Farmer, baker, or blacksmith; it doesn’t matter to me. I’ll love you no matter where we end up, and I’ll be happy there because I’ll be with you.” My lips brushed his in a brief kiss. “So do what makesyouhappy, too. Because your happiness is just as important as mine.”
He sniffed and blinked against the moisture pooling in his eyes. “I’ll try,” he said.
“Good.” Another kiss, this one more substantial than the last. “What would make you happy right now?”
His lips chased mine. “This,” he whispered. “This is good.”
We misplaced several hours there in the trees, soaking in the solitude. We shared strawberries and long overdue kisses. He even convinced me to pose for him with my shirt undone so he could sketch the way the sun struck across my face.
He was alive again, and I hoped his light wouldn’t dim when we returned to the farm.
When we did make it back, the house was empty. The men were in the fields, and Sayla and Amelina were in the back garden clearing out the remnants of the previous season’s vegetables to prepare for planting what they’d use over the next year. So, Penny and I set to work getting soup on the stove for supper before we started on the tart.
I wasn’t much of a baker, but Penny insisted on teaching me how to make the dough and roll it out and prepare the compote to fill it. I was as eager to listen then as I was any time he showed me his art. Anything that brought him this much joy was worth paying attention to. And by the time everyone piled in for dinner, we were both grinning and dusted with flour.
While people settled at the table, Penny doled out soup and enthusiastically recounted our afternoon to Sayla, complete with our run-in with Dawson. When everyone was served and he finally settled to my right, his chair as close to mine as he could manage around the corner of table, he was as jubilant as ever. He pressed his knee against mine and listened while Warren detailed what they’d accomplished while we were gone.
More than once I caught Amelina watching both Penny and me during dinner and dessert. Her expression was unreadable, though I thought I caught the hint of a smile once. She kept quietuntil Sayla and Penny had gone to see Warren and his family out for the evening while I washed the dishes.
“Thank you,” she said as she paused in the doorway on her way toward the bedrooms. It almost looked like it pained her say it, but she pressed on. “For preparing the meal. I appreciate it.”
It was the most she’d spoken to me in almost two weeks. There was more to her thanks than just appreciation for not having to cook. I wondered if shedidsee the difference in Penny and how he’d been suffering, if his happiness that evening had reminded her of the way he was meant to be.
But she didn’t say any more, just disappeared down the hall and left me staring after her.
39
Penny
