“I told you we would,” she said, smiling up at him as he brought her hands to his chest, leaning in closer.
Her gaze dropped to his lips, and his heart beat faster as she seemed to lean closer, too.
If it wasn’t Abigail, he might have simply swooped her up and kissed her in his excitement for the curse to be broken. But this wasn’t any woman. This was Abigail—his Abigail—and he had no intention of scaring her away by moving too quickly.
“Roan,” she said quietly, even as she moved closer, “we should—”
Footsteps sounded outside the room, and they pulled away from each other to look up as the men stumbled out of the storage room.
They looked terrible.
Roan grimaced. “Hello, gentlemen,” he said. “Had a good sleep?”
Conrad slumped over the bar as he settled on his favorite bar stool.
“I feel like I haven’t slept in a week,” he said. “What was in the ale last night? I’ve never felt like this before.”
“Let me get you sorted,” Abigail said cheerfully, hopping up and pushing the tapestry toward Roan. “I’ll be right back.”
She practically ran to the kitchen, and Roan addressed the men staring at him like they hadn’t just witnessed Abigail running away from him.
“We need to get you all some food,” Roan said. “We discovered a batch of ale had gone bad after we’d served it to you. We will be testing all of them going forward to make sure it never happens again. Your tabs have been forgiven, and Abigail is going to get you some soup right away to help settle your stomachs.”
The men grumbled to each other as they all settled into the booths and around the tables.
Roan didn’t feel like joining them. He’d been so close to kissing her before they all interrupted—and even if they didn’t realize what they’d done, he was grumpy about it.
“It was a good night, though,” Tanner said, looking at everyone. “I never expected to see you dancing like that, Edgar.”
Edgar grunted. “I never expected it either, but one does not say no when a young woman like Miss Abigail offers to dance with you.”
The men guffawed, and Roan grinned as he headed toward the kitchen to check on Abigail, who was—as he’d expected—quickly heating up soup. Roan reached for the stack of bowls and laid out eight of them, collecting eight spoons and setting them inside before grabbing two trays.
Abigail began pouring the heated soup into the bowls, and Roan sliced the bread, anticipating her every move as he shuffled around her and put a piece of bread on top of each bowl. They worked in harmony, and not for the first time, Roan couldn’t imagine a world where he didn’t have Abigail working with him.
“What do you think about the time thing?” he said quietly.
“I’m expecting the man who cast it to be back this afternoon,” she said. “And I assume that we’re picking up where we left off, but I don’t know. I’ve never dealt with a spell that manipulates time before.”
“I didn’t forget,” he told her.
Abigail set the pot down and looked up at him, chewing on her bottom lip. “I didn’t either,” she said. “But I don’t know if that means there’s more coming, or if we will forget once we fall asleep, or if we’re simply not going to forget. I’ve never done this before.”
“You already said that,” he pointed out.
“It’s still true.” Her voice wobbled. “Roan, I don’t know—”
Beastie slipped into the kitchen through the swinging door and let out a yip.
Abigail sighed and looked up at him, her eyes growing misty.
“We’ll talk in a minute,” Roan said, reaching for her and pulling her into his arms for a hug.
“We need to bring them soup,” she mumbled into his chest.
“Take a deep breath first.” His gravelly voice rumbled through his chest, calming her.
Abigail obediently took a deep breath before pulling away from him and reaching for a tray. He grabbed the second and made his way out of the swinging door, holding it open for Abigail.
