Page 111 of Bound

She rubbed at her forehead, the familiar pressure returning there.

“Kessa? No. When we were younger, maybe, but there’s hardly time for that now.”

He tugged at it, and she wondered if he minded her asking. “Bought it in the market. Seemed serviceable enough.” Another tug. Another glance in her direction. “You don’t like it?”

She shrugged, her throat a little tight. “I just wondered.”

He hummed, looking all the while as if he didn’t believe her at all. She’d like to know what his assumption was, but it might stray too near to her own thoughts, and she’d prefer those remain strictly in her own mind.

He was true to his word. She never had to wheedle to have access to the facilities when she had need of them—she’d only to peek out the window and see him at the pump taking a long drink and a brief rest beneath the tree before she’d slip out back and try not to spend too long looking at the foundation. The framing he’d done. Then the siding.

The shuttered window he insisted upon, although it seemed a silly thing for a hallway.

“You think that,” Braum muttered when she’d brought it up. “Until it’s dark and stuffy and you’ve want of one. Better to make it right from the start.”

She didn’t argue with him. It had grown less appealing of a prospect when she realised there was something rather nice about letting it go. Seeing what happened and believing him when he said he’d knock it all down again if she asked him to.

They ate their supper on the porch when it wasn’t too cold. She couldn’t offer him a blanket for his lap—that felt too intimate somehow. He wouldn’t have accepted one in any case, dirty as he was from long days spent on her hallway.

But hot stews and steaming tea were welcome even on cool nights.

And Merryweather approved of her cushion, sitting beside them often.

He always stood before she could say she was tired. Always said goodnight before she could grow nervous that that would be the evening he’d insist on something more.

She was grateful. She was also a little sorry. For him, that was all. She tucked into her own bed as relieved as ever, perfectly happy with Merryweather for company, for the assurance that she’d see him again.

Was that selfish?

The thought plagued her more than she cared to admit. Every time he came to work, when she slipped him a few coins so he’d know he was appreciated, even as he’d begun to roll his eyes at her and she knew he’d only use them to buy more supplies for her home.

She soothed her conscience by taking up her hook. Selecting a colour and spending a quiet evening working on a project.

Then promptly rolled it up again, frustrated with herself.

It wasn’t enough. Wasn’t nice enough. Not for all he did.

But the prospect of anything else was intolerable, so she took up another colour and started again—only to have the ball of yarn stolen by Merryweather, so she had to wait and fuss and re-roll and chide all at once.

Wren always hid it away when she was done, anxious Braum might see it. She didn’t know why—it wasn’t a secret. She should tell him about it. Would. After she’d settled on what it was. And which colours. That way, she might take his measurements and see it made properly.

But that was too personal too, wasn’t it? She’d have to get close to him. Up and under and she’d have to move his arms this way and that. He wouldn’t like it. Or... might like it. Which she wouldn’t like. And then her offering would be spoiled, given out of frustration rather than the gratitude she currently felt.

So she tucked it back in a basket every night, and it was really just so Merryweather didn’t mess with it. That was all. It didn’t mean much of anything. Just a gesture.

Friendly.

For her... friend.

The word didn’t fit quite right any longer, but it was the only one she had.

Which wasn’t quite true either, but she needed it to be true. Didn’t she?

???

A wet winter.

Like every other winter, really.