"She'll be devastated."
"She'll rebuild. She always does."
They continued eating, the conversation flowing easily despite the occasional probing question that made Alaric have to carefully navigate around the truth. The wind howled like something alive and angry, but inside the bakery, it was warm and comfortable and oddly peaceful.
After dinner, Mrs. Whitby senior excused herself. "These old bones need rest. Marianne, make up a bed for Mr. Fletcher by the main oven. The storm won't break before morning, if then."
She headed upstairs, leaving Marianne and Alaric alone. The silence that fell wasn't uncomfortable exactly, but it was charged with something; an awareness that they were essentially alone, trapped by the storm, with the night stretching ahead.
Chapter 10
"I should probably..." Marianne gestured vaguely toward the stairs.
"Of course. I'll be fine here."
"I'll get you blankets first. And pillows. You can't sleep on the floor without pillows."
She busied herself gathering bedding, creating a makeshift bed near the largest oven where the warmth would last through the night. Alaric helped, trying not to think about the domesticity of making up a bed with her.
"There," she said finally. "That should be comfortable enough."
"It's perfectly adequate."
"That word again."
"It's a useful word."
"It's a safe word. Noncommittal, as I believe."
"Perhaps I prefer safety."
"Do you? Because you're here, in a stranger's bakery, in the middle of a blizzard, rather than safely at the inn."
"The inn had mistletoe-related threats."
"Ah yes, the dangerous mistletoe. Much more threatening than being alone with a widow in her bakery."
The words hung between them for a moment, loaded with possibilities neither seemed ready to acknowledge.
"I should... there's bread that needs checking," Marianne said quickly, moving toward the ovens.
"At this hour?"
"Bread keeps its own schedule."
She busied herself with entirely unnecessary tasks while Alaric watched, both of them aware they were avoiding something but neither quite sure what.
Finally, Marianne stopped pretending to work and turned to face him. "There's brandy. Good brandy, not the poor quality they serve at the inn. My husband laid it down before he died. I've been saving it for... I don't know what. But a blizzard seems as good an occasion as any."
"You don't have to..."
"I want to. Unless you'd prefer to go to sleep?"
"I rarely sleep before midnight."
"Never?"
"Almost never. The habit of a lifetime."
