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“Bryant?”
“What of Henry’s latest photo do-dads? He said something about you posing for him today?”
It was a distraction, but a welcomed one. I talked about Henry’s photography experiments, and he shared his frustrating haggling at Hodges Trading Post. He mentioned wanting to have both horses reshoed at the blacksmith our next visit, and I told him that Alice threatened to take me at hand and teach me how to cook properly.
“She grudgingly agrees that my sewing is adequate for all practical purposes, although far from artistic,” I said, finishing off my crumbling biscuit.
“How can a person be artistic with sewing?” Bryant asked, biting into his last apple slice.
“Lots of ways, according to her—quilts, clothes, wall samples.” I waved it all off. “She says I’m pathetic. Or at least her disapproving snorts at my sloppy attempts say as much. She’s not wrong.
“Anyhow, I think she’s given up on me in that domestic area, so she’s moving her efforts towards the cookstove. Good luck with that, too. I’m sure that’s why she believes I’m a spinster at my extremely advanced age of twenty-nine.”
I inwardly cringed at the reminder that I was no longer a single woman. Officially.
No wonder Alice had rushed like a thoroughbred, racing us both up to the altar a few hours ago. She must be doing happy cartwheels this very moment at her matchmaking success.
Married.
What had I just done?
“Are women not very domestic in your time then?” Bryant asked, snapping me from my anxious thoughts.
I lifted a shoulder. “Not as much. We have a lot of modern shortcuts, or just outright purchase what we need readymade like butter or clothes or pre-cooked food. With electricity there’s no need to spend hours making candles, and with plumbing there’s no need to draw water from a nearby source or walk outside to a privy.”
“Sounds to me like the people of your world will have too much time on their hands,” he commented. “What do they do then?”
“Work, mostly.”
“At what, since everything is done for them?”
I frowned. That was a very good point.
Conversation was drawn out as long as possible, but with nothing more to say, the food eaten and candle’s flame died down, dinner was finished. It had been a pleasant, but nervous meal. When the plates and utensils were washed and stacked away, I awkwardly turned to Bryant with wringing hands.
“Well...”
“Time for bed,” he quietly agreed.
I shot him a wide stare, then glanced over to the corner bed, my stomach dropping to see a bouquet twist of wildflowers on the pillow.
When had he done that?
And more importantly, why? He didn’t expect..?
Did he?
Oh, God.
I startled when his fingers reached down to brush back a stray lock of hair from my face, his rough fingers lightly grazing my jaw that shivered all the way down my spine. He gently cupped the back of my neck, then leaned down to graze his lips across my cheek and jaw. Then drew back.
“Good night, Callista. Have pleasant dreams.”
He politely touched his forehead in farewell, then turned and walked out the door, closing it behind him.
I blinked hard, swallowing harder.
“Holy guacamole,” I breathed.
