Alaric realized he was, indeed, watching Marianne as she helped Mrs. Ironwell untangle lights.
"Mind your own business, Thomas."
"In this village? There's no such thing as own business. Everyone's business is everyone's business."
"That sounds exhausting."
"It's actually quite efficient. We all know everything, so there's no need for secrets."
"Everyone needs some secrets."
"Do you have secrets, Mr. Fletcher?"
"Doesn't everyone?"
"I suppose. Mrs. Whitby says you're running from something."
"She said that?"
"Not to me. I heard her talking to her mum. She said you have the look of someone carrying weight that's not entirely your own."
"That's very philosophical for eavesdropping."
"I'm a philosophical eavesdropper."
Despite himself, Alaric smiled. "What else did she say?"
"That you're not who you pretend to be, but that might not be a bad thing."
"What does that mean?"
"I don't know. Adults are confusing."
"Yes," Alaric agreed. "We really are."
The day wore on, the sun came out, and gradually the village returned to something resembling order. The fair would go on, it would take more than a blizzard to stop Hollingford's Christmas fair, but it would be different than planned. More improvised, more chaotic, more community-built than professionally organized.
"It's better this way," Marianne said, appearing beside him as he finished repairing a stall. "When everyone builds it together, everyone owns it."
"Very democratic."
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
"I say it like it's an observation."
"Your safe word again."
"I thought we were maintaining safe distance today."
"Are we?"
"Aren't we?"
She looked at him then, really looked at him, and for a moment the careful distance dissolved.
"Last night..." she began.
"Was unusual circumstances," he finished. "I understand."
