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His finger comes to my lips, stopping me before I can suggest lunch can wait until after we finish what we started in the catacombs the other day. “Let me make your sandwich. You’ve worked enough this morning.” He kisses my cheek, transforming my protest to a dreamy sigh as he steps into the kitchen and pulls a plate from the shelf.
I watch him assemble a truly magnificent ham and cheese with fig jam and crisp baby lettuce, wishing this was our life. Books and banter and lunch together with a view out over the back yard from the window that’s already passed into shadow for the day.
Surely, he can feel how right this is, how meant-to-be.
If only he would stop fighting me…
As if summoned by my thoughts of trouble and strife, Laura slams through the backdoor, looking sheepish when she sees Baron’s up and moving around the kitchen. She aims a paw my way, groaning at length before she plops down on her ample bottom and clutches her stomach with a pitiful gurgle low in her throat.
“I’m not certain, but I believe Laura just accused you of starving her half to death and being bossy while you were at it,” Baron says, a twinkle in his eye that makes me smile.
I nod. “Yes, it’s true. She was starved and bossed around and treated terribly. I doubt she’ll ever be able to forgive me. Even if I share some of the cheese Casey brought by this morning.”
Laura perks up, her ears lifting and what looks like a smile curving her grumpy snout. She moans in a higher pitch and makes grabby-hands, or…grabby-claws, I suppose. No matter how tame she is, I can’t help but be a little leery of those claws as I cut a chunk from the cheese Baron pulled from his small fridge and extend it her way.
She could do some serious damage with those things, as evidenced by the scratch marks on the floor and the puncture holes in the oversized chair she likes to crawl into when it isn’t filled with books awaiting triage. She’s far more intimidating than the average guard dog, but that’s a good thing.
The more barriers to anyone breaking into Baron’s house again, the better.
As Laura noms her cheese, making giddy smacking noises that would drive my sister Everly, who loathes all eating sounds, absolutely bonkers, I ask Baron, “Do you think Laura will mind staying here tonight while we run into town? I don’t like the idea of leaving the books undefended. Even with Blaire’s wards in place.”
“No, she won’t mind.” He spreads another layer of fig jam on the top slice of my sandwich bread, further confirming that he’s the best man ever, and even without the need for food himself, understands that more jam is always better than less. “She doesn’t care for town. Or people.”
Laura makes a honking sound and returns to licking the last cheese crumbs from her claws.
“What did she say?” I ask.
“I’m not sure,” Baron says, setting my plate at the small café table in the corner of the kitchen, the one with only one small stool, another testimony to his commitment to the eternal bachelor life. “Edmond’s the only one who can fully understand her. But I’m guessing she agreed with me. She knows I’m always right.”
Before I can make the joke on the tip of my tongue, Laura lunges across the room, tackling Baron to the ground and batting playfully at him with her knuckles. And then the most amazing thing happens.
Baron…laughs.
He laughs and wrestles with Laura on the wood planks, getting her into a head lock and tickling her ribs until she’s huffing and puffing in what I can only assume is a serious case of bear giggles.
The sight of them is all the proof I need that there’s still hope for Baron and me and our baby. If he can love and play with his bear, he can learn to love and play with Aurora and me, too.
I just have to hold onto hope.
Thankfully, that’s not hard to do when eating a masterpiece of a sandwich prepared by the love of my life, with the sound of his laughter fresh in my ears.
Chapter 13
Baron
All the way to town that night, I remind myself not to get used to this.
Not to get used to Annie’s hand tucked into the crook of my arm or the sound of her chatter or the sweet smell of her shampoo as she leans her head on my shoulder and admires the perfect curve of the moon. Not to get used to the warmth filling my chest or the “home” feeling that follows me wherever I go, as long as I’m with her.
I lost my home centuries before Annie was born. I will never have a home in that way again. I will have shelter from the sun and the comfort of books. That’s all the comfort I have ever allowed myself and all I will continue to allow myself. Soon, the seven days I promised her will be over and things will go back to the way they were before.
But no sooner have I built up my resistance, than Annie tucks a stray hair behind my ear with a smile, and every wall I’ve hammered into place crumbles like a house of cards.
She arches a brow as if to say “see, you’re helpless against me, bucko, might as well give up and give in,” but doesn’t speak a word. She simply squeezes my arm and exhales a happy sigh, as if an evening walk through a swamp teeming with life-threatening predators is her idea of an excellent time.
Affection tightening my throat, I mutter, “You should insist I take you somewhere. I’m sure days drying out books and nights spent questioning spiders wasn’t what you had in mind when you struck this bargain.”
She laughs. “Honestly, I’m not sure what I had in mind, but things are already going much better than I expected.”
