Rosie shook her head. “Not at all.”
Internally, I cursed Kit's strong shoulders, and his build so much more muscular than mine. Little wonder he drew notice. He'd drawn mine, after all.
A lump clogged my throat as I thought back to the feeling of his arms around me and chest against me, when he scooped me off the living room floor. We were close for that fleeting moment. It gave me ideas, fantasies about what might have occurred if I hadn’t vomited all over him.
I squinted at Tessa with her smooth tan skin and glossybrown hair, and I wished she was a bit less pretty. Maybe if she had a gnarled nose or pocked cheeks…
“What’s he like?” Tessa’s musings interrupted mine. “This blacksmith?”
“Grouchy,” I said. “The first time I met him, he threatened me with a knife. I don’t suspect he takes kindly to strangers.”
“Heisa bit… terse,” Rosie interjected. “But could be different with people he knows well.” She nudged me as though expecting me to confirm her statement. I would agree, but not with the part she wanted me to.
“I think terse is an apt description,” I said.
Tessa’s features relaxed, and she laughed. “That suits me. I don’t fancy chatty men.” She wound her way past Rosie and me to peer at the spread on the counter. “Oh, shortbreads! Bring me some later, won’t you Rose? They’ll pair nicely with the ham I’m making for dinner.”
With a flounce of her gingham dress, she headed for the door to leave as abruptly as she’d come. “Penny, would you put in a good word with your friend for me? I look forward to meeting him soon.”
My jaw tightened as I watched her go. I didn’t realize my fists had clenched, too, until Rosie touched my wrist.
“Don’t mind her.” She smiled gently. “I think you’re strapping.”
I huffed a breath and turned back to the baking supplies.
“They’re about ready to roll out.” Rosie grabbed the dough I had mixed into a ball and passed it back and forth between her hands. Setting it on the counter, she stepped away and returned with a rolling pin.
“You know how to use one of these?” She held it aloft.
“Of course.” I took it from her, and she moved backwhile I rolled the dough across the floured workspace. “How thick should it be?”
She held up her thumb and forefinger to show a narrow gap. “About like this.”
Nodding again, I set to work, smoothing the dough into a pale brown sheet flecked with gray buds of lavender. Rosie stood by till I finished, then grinned her approval when I handed the rolling pin over.
She set it aside and collected the used scoops on her way to the sink. Pumping in water, she glanced at me. “I like you, Penny. You’re not like the other men here.”
I gathered the rest of the dirtied dishes and passed them to her.
“How so?” My brow raised.
She may have blushed again, but it was hard to tell before she turned away. “You know your way around a kitchen, for one thing. And you seem kind.” With the sink full of soap suds and piled with dishes, she took a knife from the countertop block and edged past me to take the position in front of the flattened dough. Dragging the blade through the shortbread, she created a grid of perfect squares. Uneven edges were peeled away and rolled into a new ball.
A smile ghosted over her full lips before she asked, “Areyou kind?”
“I try to be,” I replied.
Rosie’s smile returned with vigor. “Yes.” Her head dipped in a nod. “I like you very much.”
I stayed and visited until the shortbreads had baked and cooled slightly. They flooded Rosie’s house with the most fragrant aroma, and the smell followed me as I carried home a little brown bag filled with cookies. I got back to Kit’s cottage, excited to share the treats while they had a bit of warmth left, but he wasn’t there.
With nothing to do but wait, I rifled through the pantry and cabinets searching for something I could make into dinner.
“Tessa’s making a ham,” I sneered to myself as I bustled about the kitchen. “Well, we don’t have a ham,Tessa. We have…” I pulled a wrapped package from the icebox and slapped it on the counter. Peeling back the thick butcher paper revealed a pile of chicken legs, pink and white with knobby bone ends.
“Fine,” I grumbled. “Chicken’s fine.”
Iwas fine, Rosie had said. Strapping, not scrawny. But what strapping man could be held the way Kit had held me? Women, even my own sister, seemed to prefer broad, burly sorts.
