Page 107 of The Little Shop of Curiosities, The Music Box Part 2

It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Go to your happy place…

Which is being naked in bed and wrapped around Sam, with none of the events of the past forty-eight hours sitting between us like an anvil.

I try to get a grip before I start to spiral, but I’m so stressed my tentative grasp on my empathic abilities starts to slip. I’d gotten quite used to maintaining a level of control in all the months I’ve been in London, but my anxiety is skyrocketing and tangling up with Sam’s concern, Cornelius’ confusion, and Ichabod’s suspicion.

I don’t know if I should be grateful when all that is eclipsed by the sudden stabbing in my toes. They’ve moved past being numb and are now so cold that my toenails hurt.

Fucking hell, what if I get frostbite? What if my toes turn black and fall off? None of my shoes back home will fit.

Which is a really stupid thought to be having right now, Harrison.

“Calm down, Prickles,” Sam rumbles quietly. Despite the heavy material of the borrowed overcoat I’m wearing, I feel the weight of his hand as he presses it against my back in comfort.

I draw in a shaky breath and close my eyes, going back to my deep breathing exercises.

It’s fine. Breathe in. Breathe out…

“Is he alright? Does he require a doctor?”

I open my eyes to Cornelius staring at me, his forehead wrinkled in concern. Damn but my great-great-however-many-greats uncle is a total silver fox. He has an air of calmness and authority which is very reassuring.

Serious Daddy energy is rolling off him. I can’t help the giggle that bubbles up at the thought of the very serious and straitlaced Ichabod calling him that.

The others stare at me like I’m heading for a bout of hysteria.

“He’s fine. This is all just…a lot.” Sam raises the hand from my back to my neck and squeezes as Cornelius nods in acknowledgement. He does it without even thinking and I lean into his touch just as thoughtlessly. Despite having us tumble out of a cupboard in a Molly house and landing at his feet half dressed, Cornelius can’t really know the exact nature of our relationship. Not really, especially after we told him we’d been pulled through time and dumped in that particular building rather than being invited guests to the establishment. But I think we’re well past trying to hide how close Sam and I are, although we’re going to have to get better at hiding it from everyone else.

Everyone. Else.

Fuck. The anxiety slams back into me full force. What if we’re stranded here permanently? Doomed to hide our relationship because to do otherwise would undoubtedly lead to at least hard time in prison under terrible conditions?

Do we even have a relationship anymore?

I catch a glimpse of worry in Sam’s eyes when I look over at him.

“I understand that this situation is most”—Cornelius hesitates, glancing down at our bare feet—“unfortunate,” he decides. “If you require something to calm your nerves, I have laudanum.” He reaches for his jacket pocket.

I’m seriously tempted to say fuck yes, beam me up Scotty, but instead I murmur a polite, “No thank you.”

At that moment, Ichabod opens the carriage door and says in a hushed tone, “Come quickly. The street is clear for the moment, but the constabulary have increased their patrols in this area given how close we are to the Old Nichol. I cannot guarantee how long we have between their rounds.”

Sam climbs out and his hand twitches as he turns toward me like he wants to reach out and help, but I guess the sooner we get used to not touching in public the better. When I step down, my poor feet land on a light dusting of snow covering the freezing paving.

Taking a deep breath, I pause to look up at the property in front of us. It sits on a wide street flanked by the soot-covered brickwork of tall, narrow Victorian buildings rather than the dark, more modern alleyway we’re used to. Some of the buildings have survived into our time, but many didn’t, either because they took direct hits during the bombing raids of the Second World War or when they cleared the slums and began to rebuild the most poverty-stricken parts of the city.

Looking up at what will become my biological mother’s bookshop a century and a half from now, it does bear a resemblance to the building that I saw in Cordelia’s memories, with a couple of notable exceptions. There are now two doors instead of one main entrance and the large bay window on one side of the property is filled with a display of ribbons, rolls of material, and ladies’ hats.

I guess between this point in time and Cordelia’s release from Crowscroft forty years ago, the building was split into the two properties I’m familiar with in our present-day London, with one side already being used as a retail space. Although I’d always thought it had been a bookshop right from the beginning, the window display suggests it started out as…what is it called…a haberdashery?

After Cornelius climbs out of the carriage and pays the driver, he hurries us all towards the doorway to the right. Within minutes, we’re inside and Cornelius has closed the door firmly behind us and locked it.

“Are you hungry?” he asks as he removes his hat and his gloves.

I shake my head and Sam does the same. “I’m just really tired and cold,” I say honestly.

“We’ll show you where you can sleep,” Ichabod says, and heads toward the staircase.

I recognise this area from my dreams. Turning my head to the right, I see the doorway that leads to Cornelius’ study.