“How about you?” Her cheeks were most definitely turning rosier. “Do you think you’ll marry Bellamy’s choice for you?”
He had a wager to uphold. And one way or another, he was getting married. “I’m still trying to figure things out too. But I gave him my word I’d cooperate, so that’s what I’m doing.”
Her smile faded. “Oh. So it’s been difficult for you?”
His thoughts returned to the three women he’d met with over the past few nights. Bellamy had done well. Each had all twelve qualifications on his list, and the visits had been pleasant enough. But at the end of each, he hadn’t been attracted to any of them, not even a little bit.
“I’m trying to move on,” he said. “But it’s been difficult.”
Alannah nodded, her expression still solemn. “It’s alright. There’s no rush. As they say: If you don’t know the way, walk slowly.”
He wished he could take reassurance from her. But he wasn’t one to sit around and wait for things to happen. He preferred to make the moves first.
She pushed herself up so she was standing, tucked the book under one arm, and took up the lantern in the other hand. “Friendship is always a good place to start any relationship.” She offered the words of advice almost shyly.
“So it is.”
“I think you’d make a great friend.”
“You don’t know me.”
“I know you well enough.”
He’d lost track of the trajectory of the conversation. How had they gone from talking about his matchmaking to their friendship?
He stood and gathered the blanket.
“Friendship, then?” She ambled toward the flower beds.
He’d gotten a glimpse of her ankles and calves the lasttime they were out in the field, and now he caught sight again of that stretch of her legs, the creamy skin, the smooth shape. Just the tiniest look sent a trail of heat blazing through him.
He tore his gaze from her. What was he doing? He had to stay far away from lusting after her. Was the best way to do that to focus on being friends, the way she was requesting?
“Well?” She stopped beside one of the raised beds. The blooms were an array of colors that even in the darkness held a vibrancy and heady scent.
“Friendship it is.” What did two people do when they were agreeing on becoming friends? Should he offer a handshake?
She gave him a smile, one that was warm and encouraging. “It’ll be good. Kiernan.”
At the use of his given name, the last resistance inside him came tumbling down, and he smiled in return. Friendship with Alannah wouldn’t hurt anything. In fact, maybe it was just what he needed.
11
Zaira was a talented writer. ’Twas easy to see.
Alannah used an insert sign and wrote a missing word in the margin of the page open before her. Now that she was nearing the end of the manuscript, she was having a harder time giving feedback and not getting lost in the story itself.
Sitting in the grass in the shade behind the summer kitchen, she’d been editing for the past hour while Zaira took her position inside the kitchen, helping Cook clean up the evening meal.
It felt awkward to switch places and hand her apron over to Zaira. But whenever she protested, the young woman smiled brightly and claimed it was the least she could do to allow Alannah the time she needed to edit.
Alannah had tried to work on the manuscript at night in her room. But with how exhausted she was, sitting on her bed invariably led to her falling asleep, which was one more reason why she liked reading outside, so she didn’t fall asleep so easily.
She’d considered bringing the manuscript with her during her nightly ventures to the field. But with Kiernan joining her every night for the past week, she’d hadn’t wanted to reveal Zaira’s secret. She didn’t think Kiernan would mind that his sister was writing a novel and trying to get it published, but the decision to involve Kiernan was Zaira’s.
Besides, even if Alannah brought the manuscript out to the blanket, she wasn’t sure how much work she would have accomplished with Kiernan sitting there beside her. On a couple of occasions, he’d brought a book, too, but he’d only read for a little while before he closed it.
Whenever he did that, she put her book down, too, even though he insisted that she keep reading. The truth was, she was more interested in talking to him than reading anything written on the pages.
