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“Oof!” And then, “Stop tickling me! Ah, stop!”
Nyana almost smiled—almost—as her daughters preyed on Joel’s greatest weakness. They giggled and tickled his sides with small fingers while he writhed on the frozen earth, laughter escaping his mouth in misty breaths. Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t acting, even for their sake. The faintest of breezes could likely stir up a ticklish fit within him.
When they finally stopped, the girls spun with their arms out on either side and lifted their faces to the gray sky. Snowflakes drifted down from silent clouds, spinning and twirling and dancing, each as large as her fingernail.
She tipped her head back and watched nature’s beautiful, wild dance. Numerous white flakes spun across the sky and touched the ground like the whisper of a kiss.
The girls continued to laugh as they played in the snow.
“You two keep on playing without me,” Joel said. “I want to talk to your mama for a minute.”
Nyana’s shoulders hunched protectively as Joel approached, a gut reaction she hadn’t been able to disperse even after Liam’s death. But his tall frame quickly stooped to her level as he picked up her cane and smiled as he handed it to her.
“Sit on the porch with me? I imagine it’s slightly warmer than the ground. Besides, I brought pie. Just like I promised.”
His kind, sincere smile never faltered as she gingerly took the cane from him and pushed herself to her feet. He still didn’t touch her. Not even to help her up.
She was grateful.
Joel’s coat drowned her as she stood, the bottom hitting just above her knee. With a one-foot height difference between them, she was not surprised.
On the porch, she hesitated as she glanced at the empty bench, to her squealing and laughing daughters, and finally to Joel. He stood several feet away, one hand in his pocket and the other carrying the pie beneath a white cloth.
She should have sat on the bench. She should have put several more feet between them. But instead, she opened the door. “I have dough waiting on the table. I can’t keep it waiting for much longer.”
“I can wait out here then.”
“No.” She shook her head and opened the door wider, nerves tumbling in her stomach. “You may come inside.”
His eyes gleamed with both caution and what appeared to be triumph. Seven years ago, she may have laughed. However, she couldn’t remember what her own laugh sounded like. It had been so long since she’d heard it.
He stepped inside, and she closed the door after him, ignoring his inquisitive gaze as he looked around. The cottage wasn’t much to look at. Simple. Sparsely furnished. Plain walls. A staircase leading to two bedrooms. The wooden banister was old and cracked, violently aged. The walls peeled in many places. Several rugs covered the scarred flooring.
And the place smelled old. Weathered by age and the elements.
But she loved it. Because it was her own.
Taking his coat off her shoulders and draping it over the back of a chair beside the hearth, she led him toward the back of the house and into the kitchen, where she proceeded to open the window to give her a view of her daughters as they played.
She rolled up her sleeves, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling with awareness when he leaned against the counter only feet away rather than taking a seat at the table. Despite his proximity and within a closed, confined space, she tried her best to hold her panic at bay as she returned to the blob of floured dough waiting on the counter. But as the seconds ticked by as she kneaded, she began to relax.
Flour coated her fingers as she worked the dough, thankful for something to do with her hands.
“What recipe did Nana send you?” Nyana asked after a beat too long of silence.
“Cinnamon apple. There is a reason I kept it covered. It looks terrible.”
Her mouth twitched in amusement, surprising even herself. She glanced over at him and the mirth in his eyes as he lifted the white sheet, only to reveal…well, she wasn’t sure what to make of it. A gooey, cinnamony mess stared back at her as if the apple had a fight with the crust and there was no clear winner.
“I’m sure it tastes delicious?” she tried, which only managed to elicit laughter from him. Her lips twitched again, but she quickly sobered as she returned her attention to the dough, mentally counting out how much food remained in the house. Not much. She would have to return to the market again soon.
A shudder ran through her at the thought of people staring, spitting at her, or casting her pitying looks. Come spring, she wanted to leave Heulwen forever and escape to a place where no one knew who she was.
“Nyana.” Joel’s gentle tone startled her out of her thoughts. “We need to talk.”
A weary sigh left her lips. “About what?” If he brought up Calle in any way, shape, or form, she would toss him back outside with the chicken remains.
“I don’t like you living out here alone.”
