“… but ye ought to tell her,” he continued as if Emma had not spoken. “Whenever ye like, but tell her, eh?”
He straightened up, smiling at her. She didn’t smile back. She had the strange urge to fling the anise comfits at him.
She didn’t, of course.
Then, he was gone, whistling and swaggering out of the door, leaving her a seething, boiling maelstrom offeeling, wanting something so very badly but without the slightest idea of what it was she wanted.
The wretch!How dare he?
To console herself, she popped another comfit in her mouth. They really were delicious.
7
It was always odd seeing the Sinner in daylight.
He could pick out flaws that seemed erased in the dark—sagging wooden rails, and worn-away stone steps leading up to the door. Flaking paint on the walls, a crack in a windowpane.
None of these were terrible flaws, but still. Thomas thought it was like seeing someone in blank, vivid sunlight. The sun was unrelenting, highlighting every flaw, every wrinkle, every spot of discoloration. Somebody may not look their best in the sun.
But as always, what mattered was the inside. The inside of the Sinner was completely different from its humble outside, and he couldn’t wait to get in.
It felt like coming home.
He tied up his grey stallion outside and shouldered open the door. They weren’t technically open yet, so the pub was nice and quiet. There were some changes, too, changes that Thomas hadn’t noticed earlier when the place had been packed. Colored fabric hanging at the windows—curtains, brightening the space. A few fresh coats of paint. A vase of wildflowers on a windowsill.
A woman’s touch. So, he had Colby’s wife, Veronica, to thank for the changes.
“Thomas! There ye are! Come on over here and have some ale, eh?”
He spotted a familiar face behind the bar, all black curls and large brown eyes crinkled up in a smile.
“Hello, Colby,” he said, grinning. “It’s been a while, eh?”
He hurried over, giving his old friend a quick hug. Ithadbeen a long time. Thomas found himself searching his friend’s face for changes, signs that he was older or more stressed or that somethingwas different.
“Dom is in the back, worrying about ledgers or accounts or something,” Colby said, his arm slung around Thomas’ shoulder. “In the meantime, let’s have a tankard of ale, ye and me. Not the cheap stuff we sell in the pub. The good stuff that I save for myself. Veronica’s home-brewed ale.”
Thomas rolled his eyes, a grin breaking out on his face. “What will we do with ye, Colby?”
“Who knows? Wait here.” Colby laughed and patted him on the shoulder. He turned to pour out the tankards of ale, humming to himself.
Thomas watched him with a smile.
Ale would be good. It would take away the wretched taste of aniseed in his mouth. He wasn’t sure what had possessed him to take one. Heknewthat he didn’t like aniseed or fennel, or licorice root, or anything like that.
Emma liked it, though.
He shuddered, remembering the way she’d closed her eyes in bliss and placed the comfit in his mouth. There’d been something in her expression that had snagged his gaze and stopped him from looking away.
What else might make her pull that expression?
His mouth suddenly became dry.
Well, at least he knew that lack of desire wasn’t his problem. Perhaps Astrid just wasn’t the sort of woman he liked anymore. If he could feel desire for Emma then, of course he could feel it for someone else.
Then, Colby turned around with three tankards of ale, and Thomas hastily put all thoughts of Emma, Astrid, and aniseed comfits out of his mind.
“There,” Colby said, putting down a foaming tankard in front of Thomas, somewhat pleased with himself. “Drink up.”
