Page 47 of A Raven Reborn

Michael laughed cynically. “You really want relationship advice from a man who somehow managed to betroth himself to a toddler?”

Thank god he’d finished his drink. He sometimes forgot about that whole debacle.

“Fair enough. Although, perhaps you’re really the lucky one. You already know who your bride will be.”

“That’s one way of looking at it, I suppose.”

Standing, Patrick rolled his shoulders. At least the knife wound had mostly healed. “Well, shall we?”

After locking up, they walked together to Patrick’s and then said goodnight before Michael continued on to his own place.

Try as he might, Patrick didn’t sleep a wink. He arrived at Siegfried’s more than a half hour early and sat on a bench nearby to wait for Rosie. His mind was spinning like a top. What if she didn’t come? What if she did come?

Suddenly, the sound of her laughter, like music of the angels, permeated the din of the anxious voice inside his mind. How was it possible that she was even more beautiful than he’d remembered? Happiness radiated from her as she laughed animatedly with two other women. Icy fingers of guilt wrapped their way around his heart. Was it selfish to try to persuade her to leave that life for him? What if it could bring her more happiness than he could?

Thankfully, when her eyes locked with his, her smile didn’t falter. If anything, it tipped up just a bit more. Her eyes widened and her hand floated to her stomach. Butterflies must have taken flight there, just as they had in his own.

He stood as the three ladies walked toward him. They all carried umbrellas beside them, and only then did Patrick look up at the threatening sky. Dark clouds swirled above, which promised more than a chance of rain.

“Afternoon, ladies,” he said with a nod.

“Good afternoon, Patrick,” they chimed. His eyes locked with Rosie’s and his heart stumbled inside his chest. What was this power she had over him?

The others didn’t stay to visit and simply waggled their fingers at Rosie as they continued walking. “We’ll be back to collect you in one hour, Rosie.”

“No need, Daisy. I’ll return her safely.”

But Daisy turned and shook her head. “Ash’s orders” She raised her hands in a shrug.

Patrick didn’t argue any further.

He turned back to Rosie. “I’m glad you came.” Her smile faltered and she looked down at her feet, brushing the right one back and forth across the cobblestones.

His voice cracked slightly as it broke through the awkward silence. “It’s too cold for an ice, but I’m sure Siegfried’s is serving hot beverages, as well. Would you like some tea, or perhaps chocolate?”

“Oh, yes, please!” Her smile returned. Thank God. How had he managed to make this situation so awkward? And how in the hell was he going to get from this, to convincing her she should accept the protection he offered her?

Clasping his hands behind him as an added measure to keep them to himself, they walked together to a nearby table. Immediately after they'd settled, a young woman hurried up to them.

“What can I get ya?”

Patrick nodded for Rosie. “I’ll have a cup of chocolate, please.” She spoke softly. Patrick had never really seen much in the way of shyness from her. She’d barged into his study, bold as brass, in her nightclothes, on more than one occasion. He nearly laughed out loud at the memory.

“One hot chocolate. And for you, sir?”

“Coffee, please.” She gave a quick nod and scurried away.

“How have you been?” he asked, trying to stop the impending silence from settling once more.

“Oh!” Her face brightened. “I made you something!” She reached between the buttons of her bodice and pulled out a handkerchief. His mouth twitched with amusement.

“I know,” she said, pink filling her cheeks. “But I was afraid if I put it in my reticule, I’d forget to give it to you.”

He did chuckle then, as he took the piece of cloth she held out to him. This was his Rosie. Rather than the usual monogram, the words ‘Just Patrick’ were embroidered with green thread into the corner. He chortled with sheer joy.

“I know it’s not very good, but I’ve been learning to sew.” She shrugged.

“It’s perfect,” he assured her. And it was. Sure, the stitches weren’t even or straight, but he loved everything about it.

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