After a few weeks, I found routine in Ashpoint. I worked with Kit in the forge in the mornings, then visited Rosie after lunch and practiced baking. She had a seemingly endless repertoire of recipes to teach me and a few she was just learning herself. If I was honest, I enjoyed the cozy comfort of Rosie’s home more than the stifling heat and sweat in the smithy, but I preferred Kit’s company over anything else.
He was kinder by the day, endlessly patient with my efforts at leatherworking, and so damn handsome I often stopped my work to stare. His nightly returns home reminded me of my father ending his days in the fields and the way my mother happily doted on him, so I tried my best to do the same.
I made dinner, kept us well-stocked in all manner of pastries, and whiled away the evenings telling Kit about Rosie’s family, her cat that was expecting a litter of kittens, and sharing occasional stories from my home in Eastcliff.
He listened. Better than anyone I’d ever known. And, when he smiled, it stirred up my insides.
That night I was bursting to tell him about selling my first commissioned piece from the smithy. Rosie’s father had asked if I could make him a sheath for his gardening shears. I assumed he was taking pity on me or simply trying to be kind, but when I delivered the leather holster etched with curling vines and wide leaves, his approval felt genuine.
With coin in my pocket, I bragged to Kit, and he smiled so wide I blurted without thinking.
“Can I take you to dinner?”
Immediately, all signs of cheer left his face. “We have plenty to eat here.” He glanced toward the kitchen and the cabinets that were, indeed, well-stocked. “If there’s something you need, I could run to the market…”
Perched on the couch beside him, I wrung my hands together. “I’d like to try the tavern in town. I have money.” I patted my pocket. “You’ve paid my way for everything so far. For once, I can return the favor.”
As settled as I was in Ashpoint, Kit remained wary. He avoided socializing with our neighbors and kept conversations with his customers in the smithy to strictly business. Even when the other initiates came around, Kit made no effort to befriend them. It didn’t surprise me that he would prefer to stay in since he seemed to feel safest at home, but I couldn’t miss the chance to do something different. Something special.
With his dark eyes still narrow, he replied slowly, “I’m more than able to cook dinner sometimes if you want a break.”
“Iwantto take you out,” I insisted, resisting the urge to grab his hands and pull him with me as I stood. “To thank you. For everything.” A smile curved my lips and, finally, Kit gave a reluctant nod.
The sun was setting as we walked across town. Shopswere closing for the night, but the tavern remained aglow with golden light that streamed through its open windows. The faint sounds of a flute and lyre lured us across the square.
When we got close enough, I rushed ahead, grabbing the gnarled wood handle and pulling the door open for Kit to enter. He paused before the threshold and frowned at me before I beckoned him ahead.
Upon entering the tavern, music and motion overwhelmed me. Booths lined the walls with the center of the room reserved for couples that twirled and dipped in time to the jaunty tune. At the tables, people sipped steins of ale and chatted amiably while servers bustled about delivering food and drinks. But the smell was the best part. The aroma of savory roasted meat with heavy notes of herbs wafted through the air. A stew, maybe. My mouth watered.
Kit lingered in the entry until I caught his arm and tugged him toward an empty table in the far corner.
Reaching the booth, I slid into the wooden seat, and Kit took his place across from me. I didn’t realize I’d been grinning or for how long until my cheeks started to ache, and I forced myself to take on at least a shade of the stoicism that had dominated Kit’s features since we’d arrived.
“It’s louder in here than I remember,” he muttered, and then I was beaming again.
“Get whatever you’d like,” I encouraged him. “Food, ale…”
A woman arrived beside us. Her brown hair was wound in a loose topknot and an apron was tied around her waist.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” she greeted without looking up from straightening the bow in the apron string, and I turned toward her, smiling until I saw her face.
“Tessa.” I swallowed while the warmth drained from me.
She brightened. “Penny!” Her head whipped toward Kit. “That means you must be the mysterious Kitingor Koesters. I’ve been wondering when we would finally meet.”
“I didn’t know you worked here,” I said, trying and failing to draw the woman’s attention.
If Ihadknown, I would have stayed away. More than once, Tessa had intruded on my baking lessons with Rosie. Rarely interested in the work we were doing, certainly never helping, she lazed about, dominating conversation with her woes as a single woman of marrying age or bragging about her skills as a seamstress, or her penmanship, or the grand meal she would be making that night for her family.
As often as not, she found a way to work a mention of Kit into our talks, all but begging me to bring him along to meet her. I’d done the opposite—selfishly, perhaps. Now, all my efforts were being undone before me.
“I’ll have a whiskey,” Kit told Tessa, so succinct it was almost enough to restore my sunny mood. “And what do you have for the meal?”
“Today’s special is beef with roast vegetables,” Tessa replied. She stared hard at him, her eyes dipping up and down as though taking him in head to toe.
“Two of those,” I cut in. “And an ale for me.”
Tessa nodded and a few brown locks swung loose around her narrow face. “I’ll get right on that.”
