Alaric lifted his head slightly. "That's because Mrs. Whitby is on top of it. And me. She's on top of me and the ice. It's a layered situation."
Mrs. Morrison's eyes lit up with unholy glee. "Mr. Fletcher, are you compromising our Marianne?"
"Nobody's compromising anybody," Marianne said quickly, finally managing to push herself up and roll sideways into the snow. "We collided, we fell, and now we're getting up. See? Completely upright and surely not compromised."
She stood, covered in snow and flour, her hair now completely free of its pins, looking like she'd been through apastry-based war. Alaric pushed himself up more slowly, aware that he probably looked equally ridiculous. There was definitely mincemeat in his hair.
"You're both covered in pies," Mrs. Morrison observed, her tone suggesting this was somehow more scandalous than the positioning.
"Yes, thank you for that observation," Marianne said, attempting to brush pastry from her skirt and only succeeding in spreading it around. "I was carrying pies, we collided, the pies went everywhere. It's not complicated."
"What was Mr. Fletcher doing outside your bakery at this hour?"
"I was investigating economic patterns," Alaric said with as much dignity as a man covered in mincemeat could muster.
"Is that what young people are calling it these days?"
"Calling what?"
"Romance, Mr. Fletcher. Romance."
"There's no romance!" Marianne protested. "There's just impact and pastry distribution!"
"That sounds like romance to me."
"Your definition of romance is very strange, Mrs. Morrison."
"Says the woman who was just lying on top of an eligible bachelor in the snow."
"He's not a bachelor, he's a steward."
"Stewards can be bachelors."
"Not relevant bachelors."
"All bachelors are relevant when you're a widow."
"That's the most depressing thing you've ever said."
"It's practical. Now, both of you inside before the entire village sees this... situation."
"It's not a situation," Marianne muttered, but she was already moving toward the inn. "I need to clean up and make four dozen new pies before the committee meeting."
"I'll help," Alaric said without thinking.
Both women turned to stare at him.
"You'll help?" Marianne repeated. "You'll help make pies?"
"How hard can it be?"
"Have you ever baked anything in your life?"
"I've observed baking."
"That's not the same as baking."
"It's adjacent to baking."
