Page 92 of Sweetling
That shebelongedthere.
Standing in the street outside her uncle’s tavern, in her new dress, Molly had the distinctly uncomfortable sensation of not belonging. It wasn’t something she’d experienced with the tavern; despite Brom’s insidious comments that she should be grateful for him taking her in, despite how rundown the place often was, Molly still felt attached to it. Like it was somehowherplace.
She’d certainly worked hard enough for it to be.
Looking at it now…a prick of sadness stung her. For the state of the place. For ever leaving, yet for coming back, too.
Allarion seemed to know what she’d say even before she murmured, “I’d better go in by myself.”
His mouth was an unhappy, downturned line, but after a moment, he nodded. “You’re sure?”
“Yes. Do your shopping.” She tried to smile through her apprehension. “You have my permission to buy any rug you see fit for the atrium and conservatory.”
One of his brows ticked up, and he respected her attempt to avoid the tension by joking himself. “Now that is a concession. I won’t abuse this trust.”
“Just nothing too yellow. Or too pink.”
A small smile, almost sad, touched his lips. “Of course, my love.”
“Remember to haggle,” she said, straightening the already perfect drape of his cloak. Knowing he was on the cusp of leaving her alone, just as she’d asked, had a desperate need to keep him there bubbling up. “They’ll expect you to haggle. If you don’t, they’ll be insulted.”
“I think they’ll be happier for the full price in the end.”
Molly opened her mouth to argue, but then Bellarand bobbed his head in impatience.
Come along, two-leggeds. If I stand here any longer, I’ll start attracting pigeons.
She grinned despite herself, tipping her head back to receive Allarion’s parting kiss. “I’ll return by nightfall.”
“All right,” she breathed, and bit her cheek to keep from saying any more and keeping him. She tucked her hands into the folds of her gown to stop from clutching to him, too, just to be safe.
He regained his seat atop Bellarand, and with a final wave, the two of them headed off into the heart of the city—no doubt to the delight of every shopkeeper there.
Bellarand’s clipping hoof-falls on the cobblestones had almost faded by the time Molly made herself turn and face the tavern.
Sucking in a breath, she put one foot in front of the other. The front door swung open with a small push, squeaking on its hinges just how it always did. The yeasty smell of beer hit her in the face, followed by the tang of stale, spilt ale and the spice of dripping candlewax.
Her nose twitched at the muzzy dustiness of the air, sunlight slanting in from the windows full of particles hanging lazily in the air.
Molly stood just inside, letting her eyes adjust to the dim murkiness of the tavern interior.
A gasp echoed through the space.
“It’s Molly!”
She recognized the squeals and quickly threw her arms open wide. One little body, then two, ran into her waiting embrace, and Molly laughed and cried as she drew her cousins close and rocked them. Kisses fell on her cheeks as little hands grasped at her neck and shoulders.
“You’re here!” Rory and Oona exclaimed.
They pulled her by the hands further into the tavern.
Brom stood stock still behind the bar, his overgrown beard twitching in surprise to see her. Nora was on the other side, portioning out some stew into a bowl for one of the handful of patrons wiling away their afternoon in the tavern. From out back came hurried feet, and Merry appeared, a smile cracking her usually dreamy face.
“Molly!”
Merry started for her, but then Nora’s voice whipped across the tavern. “Merry, take this first. We’ve got customers.”
Ducking her head, Merry went to Nora to collect the bowl and headed for the far side of the tavern. Molly watched with a frown as Merry, barely fourteen, deposited the bowl at the table of three rough-looking men. She scurried away as quickly as she could, hurrying for Molly and the girls.
