“Actually,” he began, “I have a connection within the museum—”
“Of course, you do.”
“—And since this place is known for its thousands of locks, I merely thought it a suitable venue for your lesson.”
The parade of servers returned with a course of roasted meats and vegetables.
Mariana’s eyebrows drew together, and Nick grew alarmed that he’d made a mistake, but they released and a rare, wondrous smile lit across her face.
“Is this,” she began, her fork poking at her meat, “is thisrabbit?”
Memory, sharp and sweet, raced between them. The Isle of Skye. Their honeymoon.
“What a lark we thought it would be,” she said on a wry laugh, “to arrive at the lodge three days before the servants and have the entire place to ourselves.”
“But we forgot one essential detail,” he said, drawn into the memory with her.
“Food,” she supplied. “In my defense, I thought I’d spent enough hours in my family’s kitchens as a child that I’d picked up the bare essentials of cooking.” She speared a new potato. “The first day wasn’t so bad.”
“That was because the innkeeper in Kyleakin saw fit to send us on our way with a loaf of bread and a Scotch pie.”
She swallowed her bite and laughed. “We took care of that in short order.”
“The next day was cured meats and the remainder of the stale bread loaf.”
“But the third day,” she began, slicing off a bite of rabbit and bringing it to her mouth.
“Starving.”
“Ravenous,” she added around the bite. “How did we come by the groundskeeper’s cottage?”
“We thought to alleviate our hunger by taking a walk.” He left unsaid what else they’d done to keep the hunger at bay.
“That’s right. We happened upon his house. Mr. Budge, a grumpy, old Scot, if there ever was one.”
“He was just pointing us back in the direction of the lodge—”
“When, like a miracle,” Mariana cut in, “the front door opened and emitted both the man’s wife and the most heavenly aroma of roast—”
“Rabbit.”
Their gazes met and held on a smile.
“How did we finagle our way into their dining room?” she asked.
“Our wolfish leers must’ve done the trick.”
“I’m fairly certain Mrs. Budge fed us her entire pantry.”
“Without a doubt.”
Mariana’s smile went dreamy and thoughtful in a way he hadn’t seen in years. It reminded him of the best moments of their marriage when she would open herself to him and reveal the softness at her core. Only he knew this part of her, and it warmed him. Her smile was a gift.
“I send Mrs. Budge a Christmas goose and a box of oranges every year,” she said.
“You do?” he asked, the rasp in his throat hopefully obscuring the emotion behind it.
“Of course. She was part of one of the happiest memories from our—” Mariana bit off the rest of the sentence, and the present brushed away the past.
