Page 17 of Horsemen and Hot Chocolate

“But you don’t have any…” he hesitated over the word, dreading the answer, “affection for him?”

“No,” she scoffed. “Sometimes I wish I did to make this easier. But I do not love him.”

Something within him loosened. A curious weight lifted from his chest—one he didn’t quite understand, but he savored it all the same.

Katrina exhaled a deep sigh before reaching for the journal beside her.

“I suppose I’ve chatted too long. We should probably see if this new set of names is familiar to you,” she said, opening the book. Her finger ran down a page before stopping. “Are you Abel Smit?” she asked.

He shook his head, the name not sparking anything within him. No flicker of recognition. No light or warmth. Nothing.

“He was a barber’s son who passed forty years ago, apparently. How about Jacobus Van der Linden?”

“No, the name does not inspire anything,” he admitted.

Katrina listed off a few dozen more names, but each one did not give him the sense of belonging he sought. No memories surfaced in his mind, and Katrina’s shoulders slumped.

“That’s the last of the names and their backgrounds,” she admitted, closing the journal. Fatigue was etched on her features as she rubbed her temples. Standing, she hugged the book close to her chest. “I’m not sure how far back in time I should go with these names. Maybe you’re much, much older than we think.”

“Perhaps I’m not from here at all,” he suggested. He motioned for her to walk with him, hoping it would help soothe her troubled thoughts.

“Then why would you be drawn here?” she asked. “Why would you feel a connection to me?”

In truth, he felt his connection with her went longer than the fourteen years he’d been cursed. “I suppose I was drawn to your light,” he settled on.

She froze and blinked at him. A rosy tint stained her cheeks. “My light?”

“You have this glow,” he said, gesturing a palm in a circular motion in her direction. “A… soft radiance I cannot ignore. Since I laid eyes on you, I’ve been unable to turn away.”

The more he spoke, the more her cheeks darkened against the warm, pumpkin light. She resumed walking and averted her gaze.

“Usually, the first thing men notice about me is my beauty,” she said lightly.

“You are beautiful,” he whispered. “But that is not what lured me to you.”

Again, her steps paused as she peered up at him. Her eyes sparkled, making his heart thump beneath his chest. If Katrina thought he was dead, he had a beating heart to disprove her theory. It fluttered alive like a songbird soaring in the skies.

“I don’t hear that often,” she whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

His brows pinched together. “You should,” he said, “you have been generous enough to try to help me restore my memories. You could have screamed and fled, but you did not see me as a monster. That is more precious to me than physical beauty…” he halted. His breath caught at how the moonlight bathed her blonde hair like a gentle halo. “Though… I think it makes your beauty all the more radiant.”

Katrina’s mouth parted and then shut within the same breath. Pressing her lips together, she trained her eyes on the road as they walked side by side through the forest. He wasn’t sure if he had said something to upset her, but she did not excuse herself to return home.

The shadowy trees swayed, and red, crisp leaves danced in the wind. They stopped in a glade, and Katrina looked up, her eyes glittering like the stars. The Horseman didn’t know what this feeling was. What was the strange tingling awareness—the security he felt in her presence?

He’d been lost and alone for so many years, but he didn't feel such things when she was at his side.

“How often do you look at the stars?” she asked.

He tilted his head in question. “Every night,” he said.

“Do you think people are watching us? Angels?”

The Horseman followed her gaze and took in the night sky. He pondered her question, wondering if angelic beings could watch over a creature of darkness like himself. After all those years, he had doubted his belief in a higher power. How could such a being exist if they could leave him in this wretched state? Alone with no memory and no home.

But the moment Katrina handed him the flask of hot chocolate, something inside him shifted. Perhaps angels existed after all.

“Yes,” he whispered, glancing at her face filled with curiosity and wonder, glowing against a moonlit glade. “I believe there’s something greater than us out there.”