Olive fought her way back to reality before her brother could divulge any more family secrets. “Robbie, hush.”
He gave her a wounded look. “He’s your friend. Why shouldn’t he know?”
“Mr. Anderson isn’t my—” She shut her eyes and inhaled through her nose when the world spun again. “That’s family information. It’s private.”
“Oh.”
“Wait here.” Emil rose and disappeared inside the butcher shop without another word.
“I’m sorry,” Robbie whispered. “It’s all my fault, again.”
She fumbled for his hand and squeezed it. “We’ll both do better.”
They sat in silence until the door flew open a few minutes later. Emil dropped onto the step beside her and held something out.
“Here.”
It was a sausage wrapped in warm, flaky bread, its crisped casing glistening with juices. The smoky meat and sharp tang of mustard made her stomach growl and her mouth salivate. Still, she hesitated.
“I’ll pay you back.”
“Not a chance.”
“I can split it with Robbie."
“He has his own.” He handed a second to Robbie, who did not share in her hesitation and stuffed it into his mouth before she could stop him. Emil bit into a third sausage. “Eat,” he said over the mouthful.
Olive gave up and did as she was told. She peeled off her gloves, her fingers trembling slightly with anticipation, and dove in. The sausage was perfection. She savored every bite, then couldn’t resist licking her fingers, chasing each juicy rivulet before it could reach her sleeves. At last, she sat back and sighed. She chanced a peek at Emil and found him studying her.
“I shouldn’t have skipped breakfast,” she said with a grimace.
“Not with the way you run around town,” he agreed. “You need more sustenance.”
Strangely, his scolding didn’t raise her hackles as she thought it would. Instead, it infused her with warmth. It was nice having someone care about her well-being. Someone other than her mother, who often couldn’t do anything to change their circumstances. But Emil had. Without hesitation, he’d comforted her brother and helped her in a moment of weakness.
Perhaps a little like a knight would.
But only a little.
“Thank you.”
One corner of his mouth lifted. “You’re welcome.”
“I’m sorry,” she began slowly, “but I’m afraid I have to cut our search short?—”
“Don’t you dare apologize.” The corner flattened once more. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for.”
She didn’t? That, too, was novel.
“I’m taking you both home. You need rest before your lessons this afternoon.”
Her breath hitched again—he knew her schedule. Probably had it written down in that little notepad he carried around. Then his gaze was on her neck, and he was frowning.
“What happened to your scarf?”
Her fingers flew to her throat, bare but for her high collar. She winced. “I must have left it at Madame Celestia’s.”
It wasn’t like her to leave her belongings behind. But then, it also wasn’t like her to work a case with a man who made her thoughts scatter when he gazed at her. At least it was only a scarf, which she could retrieve. Unlike her wits.
