Deckard forced his expression to remain stolid. Surreptitiously, he brushed her thigh, hidden by the folds of her skirt. “I won’t,” he promised, then followed Thom to the door.
CHAPTER SIXTY
“So,” Thom began, sitting in the booth at the back of the tavern, “what did you want to talk about?”
Across from him, Deckard unbuttoned his coat. They both wore street clothes for the first time in months. Since their appointment with the Third Volunteer Company, they’d either been traveling as officers, on their mission, or on Alliance business. It felt good to be out of the rigid military coats and regalia. They’d both forgone cravats, too, making them appear like any other common man. Though Thom could still see the gold chain of the Space Relic peeking through his brother’s collar. Thom had left the other Relics with Evylin, thinking them safer in the house than in a tavern.
Deckard thanked the barmaid as she delivered a pint of ale and a glass of wine. “I’d like to know about your intentions,” he said without preamble.
Thom pulled a face, lifting his ale. “My intentions,” he repeated dramatically. “Don’t you sound like a protective father?”
Though Deckard tried to ease his expression, it didn’t work. “I’m simply checking in on you,” he said. “We haven’t spoken in a while, and I’d like to know if you’re feeling the same as before.”
“Mm.” Thom drank the red ale slowly, considering his reply. He looked over the tavern, surveying the soldiers and other patrons. Living in the Military District, taverns were prevalent. Deckard had never frequented them, but Thom had. He had story after story to tell from the raucous evenings spent in their warm walls.
But recently, Thom had no desire to spend time in taverns. They reminded him too much of Rafferty and the friendship he’d lost.
With a sigh, Thom set his pint down. “You mean, do I still wish for mundanity?”
“More or less.”
He shrugged. “Yes.”
Deckard narrowed his gaze thoughtfully. “What does that look like to you?”
“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “Probably soldiering. I’d like to sign my contract if they’d ever bloody offer it to me.”
Deckard hummed in agreement as he sipped his wine.
“But,” Thom continued, “I’d also like to stay with you and Evie. So whatever that looks like, I’ll do it. Aside from that...I’d like a family. A wife. Some children. Maybe a dog.”
“What kind of dog?”
“One of those Shireland Collies. The black and white ones, with the spots on their noses.”
“Ah. They’re quite trainable, I’ve heard.”
“Good with kids too.” Thom leaned forward. “But you’re not interested in dogs, are you?”
Deckard grinned. “Not particularly.”
“You want to know if I intend to woo Calyn,” Thom surmised.
“I believe you’ve already wooed her,” Deckard said lightly. “I’d like to know if you intend to wed her.”
Thom tapped his fingers along the handle of his tankard. He’d asked himself that question many times over the lastseveral weeks. Ever since they’d returned to Whickam Village on their mission to retrieve the Relics and he’d seen her again, he wondered what he felt toward the young woman. She was pretty; that was certain. And she’d changed. She’d matured. He’d come to understand that even better over the last week.
No longer was Calyn Glaas an impetuously-in-love, foolhardy girl. She was still romantic, innocent, and even ignorant, but she also bore a distinct desire to grow. It was charming. And she would make an excellent wife.
But for some reason, Thom couldn’t convince himself to want her.
“No,” he said. “I don’t want to marry her.”
Deckard’s posture eased as though he’d been holding his breath and could finally let it out. “Good.”
Thom scoffed into his ale. “You didn’t approve?”
“I told you before,” his brother raised his brow, “she’s not serious enough for you. Despite all your sarcasm and flippancy, you feel far deeper than most people. And you need a wife who can understand that.”
