“Because it's different.”
“How is it different?” I pressed.
“They’redifferent,” Kit replied. “They figured out there was an ‘us’ before I did, and if not for them, I may never have said anything at all.”
Thinking back to his unexpected confession a few days prior made my heart surge. I stared at him, studying his loose curls, freshly-shaven jaw, and full lips I’d come to appreciate more and more.
“I’m glad you did,” I said.
“So am I.”
He reached for my hands again, and this time I didn't pull away. I looked down at his perfect fingers entwined with my scarred ones and expelled a heavy breath.
“It won’t be this way forever,” Kit said after a pause. “None of this will. And, for the record, it’s already the hardest secret I’ve ever had to keep.”
When he lifted my hands to his lips and kissed my knuckles, I felt myself welling up again for an entirely different reason. I pressed into him, snugging my arms around his chest and crushing in despite the ache of our still-healing brands.
It wouldn't be this way forever. That was the best thing he could have said. It meant he saw a future with me. With us. Together.
Kit let me cling to him until the last bits of my unease faded into the quiet calm of the little house. Withdrawing, I slipped one hand into Kit’s and led him to the sofa where we sat hip to hip. I laid my head on his shoulder, and he cupped his palm around my side, holding me against him. It seemed he enjoyed the closeness almost more than me—at least in private. He sought out my touch, using excuses like fixing my hair or shirt collar to create contact. It was such a departure from his initially aloof behavior, and it brought more depth to his affection than I'd ever hoped for.
My thoughts circled through our conversation, and something he'd said earlier stuck out as important.
“So it was all about Otis?”
Kit shrugged. “I suppose so.”
“Why him?” I asked. “You said he knows things about you and your father. What makes you think that?”
Kit’s hand slid lower around my waist, where he picked absently at the tail of my leather belt.
“In his later journals, my father mentions his protege, someone he refers to as O.”
I nodded. “I've seen him come up a few times, yeah.”
“Otis seems a likely bet, don't you think?”
Thinking of the pale young man lurking around the forge looking plainly bored to be there didn't give me the impression of a threat. But Kit was as determined to find danger as he was to worry, and I'd learned it did no good to question him. “Could be,” I replied. “He's awfully young though.”
“Youthful. Easily directed. Moldable,” Kit added, sounding increasingly perturbed. “The fact that he works so closely with Harlan makes it worse.”
“You talked to him for a while. Did you figure it out for sure?”
Kit sighed through a grumble. “No. For all my questions, Otis managed to not give me any real answers. I'm no more certain who O is now than I was yesterday. For all I know he could be dead and gone, same as my father.”
At that, I gave a snort. “Good riddance.”
The savory aroma of roast chicken had grown stronger, and it made my stomach grumble. Kit must have heard it, because he chuckled and gave my side a teasing pinch. “Well, I made dinner for you, and I hardly intend to keep you from it. Sounds like you're hungry enough.”
Standing from the couch, Kit pulled me up by one hand and continued holding it as I smiled and replied, “Starved.”
We wandered into the kitchen where he ushered me into a seat at the table, insisting it was his turn to take care of me. I wondered if he knew how well he did that all thetime. It was the reason I wanted him, the reason I felt safe in this strange and sometimes scary place.
If he wasn't ready to share what we had beyond our own front door, I could wait. I'd waited weeks since we met for him to see me as more than the hapless stranger who forced my way into his life and refused to leave. I'd waited years before that for someone to look at me the way Kit did now. So, I could stand to be a secret for a while, and not a shameful one this time.
6
Kit
