“It’s wonderful to have the heat, Luc. Thank you for thinking of that.”
He shrugged. Alone, he’d been fine with the cold and the extra work hauling branches.
While they ate, he studied her face, watching her consume the sandwich the way she’d consumed everything he’d prepared for her, with such relish that he wanted to—
“Putain,” he muttered, startling her as he rose. “I’m sorry, I’m just…a bloody mess today.”
“Oh. Oh, that’s okay. Do you want me to go or—”
“No, it’s fine.” Luc took a big breath and wondered where these nerves were coming from. It couldn’t all be for her, could it?
Yes. Yes, it probably could.
* * *
For the better part of a week, Abby had gotten up every morning and shoved back the excitement of what lay ahead as she dressed in her warmest clothes and headed off to work. The threat of the ice storm had been delayed, and so she’d pruned that whole week. Abby’s body changed with the work, adapting to the movements and to the man’s presence. She noticed things about him, little things, like the way he eyed her when he didn’t think she saw, the way the gloves he’d given her a few days ago fit her perfectly. The way he fed her when he probably wouldn’t have bothered to feed himself had she not been there.
Though his exterior was rough, he was a kind man. A good man, contrary to Isaiah’s assurances that nothing beyond the fence could possibly be good. If the Church was wrong about that, then what other untruths would she uncover?
Things like medicine? And learning? She’d gladly give up her own place in Heaven to keep Sammy from suffering, but with every new day, the doubts piled up and up, until she feared her lifelong beliefs might topple.
And then what would she be left with?
Luc’s kindness was magnetic, and she supposed it was the reason for this anticipation she felt every morning as she slid through the fence. Strange how it obliterated the fear of discovery.
Today, she paused and took in the view. Rows and rows of vines stretched out, their branches coated in hoarfrost, sparkling white in the morning sun. The valley below was lost in fog, while the sun beat hard on her head, and cold rime lined the ground. And there, up ahead, stood that man, majestic as the mountains. He moved, swathed in smoke, bending, cutting, pulling the branches out, and throwing them into the barrow before standing.
He turned her way and stilled. Abby’s breath stopped for a moment or two as she stood frozen atop the rise, caught in the act of staring at him. The hand that she wanted to lift in a wave wouldn’t move. Her eyes, stinging from the sun, wouldn’t blink.
His face, she could see even from this far off, was stuck in a look of surprise or relief or…
Breath in, puff of vapor out. A bird cawed overhead, its long shadow slicing through the landscape, breaking the spell. She couldn’t help the smile that took over her face. Ignoring the shimmering thrill that ran through her, she slip-slid down the slope to find him waiting, his only greeting the extended sweater and gloves. Wordlessly, Abby put them on. Almost habit after nearly a week.
Pruning was different now, almost pleasurable. Together, they’d developed a rhythm. He’d snip, snip, snip, usually about five times, and then go on to the next plant while she moved in to unclip and pull. No more of those branches like whips to her face—or his. Her movements had become spare; the pain in her shoulders faded to a pleasant memory that kept her company at night, alone in her bed. Their pace felt good, efficient. There was pride in a job well done—not something she’d felt since Isaiah’d taken her off market duty, claiming she’d been too friendly with the evil outsiders.
It made her wonder why Luc had left France. What would make this man move to an entirely different country to do this alone?
“What’s it like, where you’re from?” she asked.
She didn’t expect him to answer, of course. Unlike her, the man was not a talker, and he’d made it abundantly clear that idle chitchat wasn’t his thing. Only this wasn’t idle, was it? Not if a person was hungry for the answer, like she was.
She’d given up on a response by the time he spoke, his voice so low she had to stop to hear him. “Pretty.” He paused. “And warm, compared to this.”
“It never gets cold there?”
“Not in my region. Not like this, no.” His face lifted to take in the landscape before them. “Everything is less dramatic. More…civilized.”
“You saying we’re uncivilized?”
His eyes snagged hers before he bent back to his task. His response was nothing more than a grunt, but just that connection left Abby’s body humming, her fingers tingling.
He shocked her a few minutes later by asking, “What is it you people do over there?”
“Why, you interested in converting?”
She was proud of the surprised huff she got out of him—a challenge she’d won. And she wanted more. She wanted a big, round laugh, a smile that reached his eyes. She wanted his face to lose its solemn cast for a while. It almost didn’t matter what replaced it, although she’d like to be close enough to see it, touch it, maybe catch it in her hands.
“Do I seem right for your…group?”
