Viv pitched in throughout any given day in dribs and drabs, especially when heavy objects needed shifting or someone more than four feet tall was required, but the balance of Fern’s hours was spent mostly in the company of Cal.
She discovered she didn’t mind that in the slightest.
The hob carpenter was soothing to be around, imperturbable and taciturn in ways that communicated more than they had any right to. More than once, one of them would appear unbidden next to the other to brace a piece of timber, offer a handful of nails, or top up a paint pot.
It wasn’t that theyneverspoke. They simply didn’t bother if they didn’t have to.
As someone whose life had mostly been spent in the service of sharing words, Fern was enjoying keeping them to herself for a while.
It meant that when they did speak, it actually mattered.
Mostly, that happened during their lunch break.
“Thanks, Thimble,” she said, as the little baker offered a platterful of sandwiches wrapped in brown paper, wedged next to two sugar-dusted scones.
He blushed to the ends of his whiskers, and then rummaged in a shoulder bag for a pair of flasks.
“Coffee,”he whispered, offering one to Cal.
The hob took it with a nod and a tug of his cap.
“Tea.”Thimble didn’t meet Fern’s eyes as she accepted it from his outstretched paw.
An awkward silence swelled as he fidgeted as though he wanted to say something, and Fern waited patiently.
And waited.
“Um. It looks delicious,” she tried, hefting the plate.
“Thanks,”he squeaked and fled out the open door.
Fern watched him go, then shifted her gaze to Cal, who was already inspecting the sandwiches with great interest. “I think there’s a conversation going on around here that involves me, but that I’m not part of. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
“Hm?” replied Cal.
“Oh, come on. Every time that kid is in the room, I can feel the . . . thematchmaking eyes.” She studied the hob’s bushy brows. “All right, fine, I can’t really tell withyou,but Viv? Tandri?”
Cal took a bite of sourdough and cheese and ruminated as he chewed. At last, he replied, “I figure folk who lucked into findin’ each other maybe hope it happens to somebody else, too. ’Specially somebody they’re fond of.”
“Oh, hells.” Fern dropped onto an upturned bucket with a sigh. “Those two aren’t talking me up to him, are they? Nudging him my way? Please, tell me they aren’t.”
He shrugged. “Doubt they’re that ham-fisted. Prob’ly just watchin’ you both like old ladies watchin’ young folk at a summer picnic.”
“He’s practically a baby! I’m forty-seven years old!”
“Never could tell the age of a rattkin, m’self.”
“My muzzle issilver.”
“Hm. Distinguished. ’Sides, he’sallgray.”
“I can’t tell if you’re fucking with me.”
Cal cocked half a smile and took another bite.
Fern laughed helplessly. “I hated the coffee, and now I’m going to disappoint them in a wholenewway.” She selected a scone and took a morose bite. “Fuck, he is a good baker, though. Maybe I’m being too hasty.”
She felt the weight of the hob’s regard and met his gaze. Or where it would have been if his eyebrows didn’t obscure it.
