"A recent conversion to usefulness. How novel."
"I prefer to think of it as character development."
"Do you have character to develop?"
"That's harsh."
"That's accurate."
They were smiling at each other now, the awkwardness of the morning temporarily forgotten in the familiar rhythm of their banter. The vicar cleared his throat.
"Perhaps we should begin? The fair starts in three hours, and we still need to prepare for the evening service."
Then came two hours of ladder work, garland arrangement, and several near-death experiences as the ancient church ladder proved to have its own opinions about structural integrity. Marianne held the ladder while Alaric climbed, and there was something both domestic and dangerous about the arrangement; her steady hands on the wood, his precarious balance above, the necessity of trust between them.
"Careful," she called as he reached for a particularly high point. "That rung is loose."
"Now you tell me?"
"I thought you'd notice. You're very observant, after all."
"I observe things at ground level. At height, I'm more focused on not dying."
"Death would be inconvenient. We'd have to find another tall person for the rest of the decorations."
"Your concern for my well-being is touching."
"I'm practical. Do you know how hard it is to find tall people on short notice?"
"I'm sure you'd manage. You're remarkably resourceful."
"Flattery won't make that ladder any safer."
"No, but it might make falling more pleasant."
"How exactly would flattery make falling more pleasant?"
"I'd have the memory of complimenting you to comfort me during the descent."
"That's ridiculous."
"That's romantic."
"That's the same thing."
She was looking up at him, and he was looking down at her, and for a moment the church, Mrs. Martin's running commentary, and everything else faded away. There was just Marianne, holding his ladder, keeping him steady, her face tilted up toward his with an expression that made him want to climb down immediately and possibly do something inadvisable.
Which was, of course, when the ladder decided to assert its independence.
Chapter 13
The loose rung he'd been warned about chose that moment to give way entirely. Alaric's foot went through the space where wood should have been, his balance shifted, and suddenly he was falling backward with the peculiar clarity that comes with imminent disaster.
Marianne reacted with impressive speed, dropping the ladder and positioning herself to catch him—or at least break his fall. He had just enough time to think "this is becoming a pattern" before he collided with her for the third time in four days.
This time, however, she was prepared. She caught him, her arms going around his waist as his weight drove them both back against the church wall. They ended up pressed together, his back to her front, her arms still around him, both breathing hard from the shock and sudden exertion.
"I've got you," she said, her breath warm against his neck.
