“I want to apologize for last night.” His British accent was thick, and his voice was low, remorseful. “It’s been a difficult couple of days, and I let my emotions get the better of me. I should never have told you about my past the way I did.”
“Oh,” I said again. I couldn’t help it. I hadn’t expected him to apologize.
Or stand so close.
I held my breath as he reached behind me and grabbed a box of matches off the stove.
“Despite what you must think, I’m not a dangerous man.” His brown eyes were filled with regret as he took a step back. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”
My instinct was to tell him I wasn’t—to put his mind at ease—but it wouldn’t be true. I was very afraid of him.
I nodded to acknowledge that I understood, then cleared my throat as I looked down at my hands. “I must tell you—I don’t know how to cook.”
He was quiet for so long, I looked up at his face again. And found he was smiling.
The transformation left me breathless. It made him look like a different person.
“That will be a problem,” he said.
“I—I can learn, though,” I added quickly, trying not to let him upend me. “I’m smart and capable.”
“I’m sure you are.” His smile still warmed his face as he studied me.
It did strange things inside me, so I frowned and pulled back a little more. “What is so funny?”
“Most women know how to cook.”
I lifted my chin. “I’m highly educated. I was a teacher before we came here. Just because I don’t know how to cook doesn’t make me less of a woman.”
“It definitely does not.” His grin broadened. “What I mean is, you’ve had two lives to learn, no? And you didn’t bother in either one? You must really not like it.”
I finally understood the humor he saw in the situation. “I had no need in my other life, either. I really don’t know if I’d enjoy it.”
His smile softened, but there was still humor in his gaze. “You don’t have to eat in the other time you live in?”
“Of course I do, but we had a live-in servant while I was growing up and now my mother does most of the cooking. I’m usually not home until late.”
“When is your other time?” He moved around me to the kindling box and took out some sticks.
I glanced at the bedroom door, and he must have noticed, because he asked, “Don’t they know?”
“No,” I said quietly. “My time-crossing parents are in my other path. I’ve never had a reason to tell Father or Hazel. I’d prefer if you don’t mention it around them. I think it would worry them unnecessarily.”
He nodded and then began to build a fire in the cookstove.
“But it’s in 1929,” I told him in a low voice. “I live in Los Angeles, actually.”
His eyebrows came up as he struck a match. “I imagine it’s quite different in 1929.”
“Very different, though I don’t really know what Los Angeles is like here. In 1929, there are over a million people living there.”
The astonishment on his face made me chuckle. I couldn’t help it. It was fun to talk to someone about my other path.
“I wish I had asked Bess about—what do you call it? Time-crossing?”
“Yes.”
“It would be nice to know where she is right now.”
