“Good morning,” he said, his voice rough with sleep and his hair mussed. “You’re up early.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” she admitted. “You’re putting the kettle on?”
Roan grinned. “I am capable of doing some things for myself,” he said. “I know you do most of them when we’re here, but believe it or not, I do actually take care of myself when I’m at home.”
“I am glad to see that you have those skills,” she teased, “and that you’re not entirely reliant upon me.”
Roan smiled but ducked his head. “I’m more reliant upon you than you know,” he said.
“I know.” Abigail grinned. “And don’t forget it. I do have a question for you, however.”
Roan glanced at her sideways.
She took a deep breath. “May I mend your grandmother’s tapestry before the tear gets any worse? I realize I should have asked for permission before trying to do it last time, and I’m sorry that I didn’t, but I really want to fix it so that it doesn’t get worse, because I know how important the tapestry is to you and how important the tavern is. And I would hate to see something that your grandmother worked so hard on fall apart because it wasn’t fixed whenI know that I can fix it, and I—hopefully you won’t even be able to notice and—”
“Abigail,” Roan said, cutting her off.
“I talk too much, I know,” she said, wilting a little, looking down at her feet. “Sorry, I just got nervous.”
“You may fix it,” he said, reaching over to lift her chin so she looked at him. “And I’m sorry I was such a beast last time, when you were only trying to fix it for me. That was unkind of me, and I’m sorry.”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “It was a little,” she admitted. “You’re sure I can fix it?”
“I trust you,” he said.
Warmth flooded Abigail at those words. He trusted her. That was something she hadn’t heard him say…ever. And judging by how surprised he looked, perhaps he hadn’t ever said it before.
“Do you want help getting it down?” he asked.
“Yes, please,” Abigail said. “I don’t need to fall off the ladder again, even if you’re there to catch me.”
“I’ll always catch you.” She warmed at his words. “But still, I’d rather you didn’t fall.”
They could agree on that, at least.
Abigail reached for her sewing bag, and they made their way out into the tavern. Roan took the ladder fromunderneath the attic hatch, placing it just to the side of the tapestry.
She reached for a rung as if she was going to climb it, and Roan frowned, putting himself between her and it.
“I’ll get it,” he said. “No more ladders for you.”
“I can manage a ladder just fine if someone doesn’t scare me by shouting out my name,” she pointed out. “I took down all the curtains, didn’t I?”
Roan didn’t say anything, simply gave her a withering glare as he began to climb the ladder. Abigail rolled her eyes—she wasn’t helpless—but stood at the bottom anyway.
She wasn’t sure what she was going to do if he fell. She certainly couldn’t catch him the way he’d caught her, but she felt better standing near him.
She watched as he carefully unhooked the tapestry, then shifted his weight to lean toward her. The ladder shifted and her heart lurched with it. She reached out to grab it, and when she looked up at Roan, he was smirking at her.
Of course he was.
It was normal for her to be concerned for someone’s safety. He didn’t need to smirk like that.
“Can you take this?” he asked, leaning down with the tapestry draped over his arm.
“Of course,” she said, letting go of the ladder to take it from him.
It was heavy.
