Kit frowned. “Does it?”
I shrugged.
Turning toward the kitchen, Kit called over his shoulder. “I’m not sure it does. Regardless, I don’t think he’ll be there. At least, he didn’t mention it.”
The abrupt departure reminded me of his unbidden exits from the smithy earlier in the day. He was on the retreat from the tension in the room, from this conversation, from me. I should have let him go. Should have gone back to drawing and sulking and simmering over the dinner I was being forced to attend. But after sitting still for a handful of seconds, hearing the water crank on and a pot fill for Kit’s evening coffee, I stood and ventured into the adjoining room.
My entry drew Kit’s notice, and his pleasant expression strained. “What is it, Pen?”
I set my stance. “What did you talk to him about?”
“Levitt?”
“Who else?” I retorted. “Did you tell him about us?”
Kit nodded as he set the kettle on the stove, then checked the fire below.
“I did,” he replied.
I crept forward to stand at the counter beside him. “What did he say?” I asked.
“He's happy that I'm happy,” Kit said slowly. “With you.”
“Oh,” I muttered, then added, “good.”
He leaned over the water, seemingly intent on watching it boil. The liquid sat still in the pot while quiet stretched between us. The tension that had bound me up all day—the day before, too—began to relax. My shoulders drooped and my hands fell to my sides, swinging uselessly while I thought on what to say next.
“Did you talk about anything else?” I asked at last.
Kit shook his head, and dark curls brushed his brow. “Not much, but I did realize something.”
“What?”
Finally, he turned to face me, and his earnest expression dispelled the last of my anger. “I owe you an apology,” he said.
And I’d thoughtIwas due to givehimone. I balked. “For what?”
Kit stepped forward to close the gap between us. He laid a hand on my arm, then slid it down to snag his fingers in mine. That was enough in and of itself. That small connection, like a spark between us. I wondered if he knew how much I craved his touch. How much those little affections spoke to me, more than his words ever could.
“For accepting the dinner invitation without consulting you,” he said. “For not telling you the poison was hemlock in the first place. For making choices for you about what I think will keep you safe. I was trying to protect you, but I think I’ve been suffocating you instead. Stifling you. All the things I’m angry at Levitt for doing to me because he was trying to protect me, too.”
I nodded through the list of perceived wrongs, remembering our confrontation at the frozen graveyard when I’d felt helpless. So decidedly unsafe in a strange, unfamiliar world. I was scared for myself, scared for Kit because of the poison, because of my brother, because of a curse I wasn’t sure I believed in.
Kit squeezed my scarred fingers, calling my focus back to the present. “The thought of this thing between us ending because I’m putting my fears onto you is… terrifying. Because I haven’t had anything this good before, either, and I don’t want to lose it. Lose you.”
His mouth pressed a tight line like he was holding backthe emotion I heard clearly in his voice. It was the opposite of helpless and fearful. He sounded certain, strangely confident, and I realized I’d been craving that too.
We stood for a lingering moment with our hands clasped and eyes searching each other until I blurted out, “I love you, Kit.” Embarrassment heated my face, but I barreled on despite it. “I think I have for a while now.”
Kit’s brows arched, and his lips turned up in a gentle smile. Not surprised like he had been when I kissed him. Not dismayed, which I may have fleetingly feared. He looked almost relieved, and when he pulled me in and wrapped his arms around me, his chest sank in a long sigh.
I relaxed into him with my head tipped onto his shoulder, absorbing his warmth and inhaling the faint smell of forge fire. When I nuzzled into his neck, he chuckled, and I leaned back.
“What's funny?” I asked.
“You found a way to spite your brother with a dessert,” he said. “I thought Sayla was a firebrand, but you're a bit of one, too, aren’t you?”
The blush from earlier returned, and I met his gaze coyly. “A bit.”
