Page 39 of Hand Picked
“Maybe. Probably. Okay, so we’ll already take the loss on that one. Now gimme.” I tried to jump up and grab the paper, but he held me back easily and grinned down at me.
“Speaking of taking the loss…Hush. The tall people are reading.”
“Hey!” I squawked, pretending I didn’t like the feel of his hand on my chest and that his smile wasn’t turning my brain into puree.
“Part the Ninth, Betrotheds must spend One Evening, from Moonrise to Sunrise, Bundled in the Betrothed’s bed, and Greet the Morn Praising the Lord.”
“Oh, wow.” I wondered. “So not only do we have to get in bed together, I’m gonna have to pray? No way.”
Webb wrinkled his nose in confusion. “I thought colonials were all prudish and shit. What’s up with this kinky bed-sharing thing?”
“Bundling… that was the equivalent of a platonic sleepover, back in ye olde days. Potential betrotheds needed to chat in order to get to know each other, right? But in cold-weather places, it would be too chilly for them to stay up late talking without a fire—which was expensive—and it would be a b-i-t-c-h for the one betrothed to have to hitch up his horse and ride home in the snow. So instead, they’d put the betrotheds in bed, with a special bundling board running down the middle to prevent anyone getting handsy, and they’d tuck them in, and it would be really wholesome, and— What’s funny?” I demanded when I saw him bite his lip against laughter.
“I dunno. Just…” He spread his hands. “Your… enthusiasm when you explain things. The way you spell out curse words. It’s cute. Reminds me of Aiden.”
Oh.
Well, then.
Awesome. I reminded him of his seven-year-old. Yep, that was a wet blanket to any potential sexy thoughts I’d been harboring.
I sat down. “Anyway, we’ll avoid that one. What’s the next part?”
“What’s wrong?” Webb lowered the scroll to peer down at me. “Your mood just collapsed.”
“Nothing. No. Just…”I’m staring at your kissable lips, and you’re thinking I’m cute like your child. “It’s been a heck of a day. Let’s finish up and move on, okay?”
“Yeah. Of course. Here, if it means that much to you.” He handed me the scroll.
“Part the Tenth,” I read. “The Betrotheds must Simultaneously Immerse Themselves in a Publick Cleansing Font, River, Lake, Pond, or Stream.”
“Public bathing? Please explain howthatcould be wholesome.”
“I… I don’t know,” I admitted, mystified. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. Unless they were… clothed somehow? Anyway, not a situation we’ll find ourselves in since it’sFebruary. Um… Part the Eleventh, the Betrotheds must have their Hands Bound Together by Rope—”
“We keep getting kinkier.”
I snickered. “—in front of the Mayor, or Another Person of Authority within the Town—”
“Extra kinky.”
“Shush. And then finally… oh! Oh, this is perfect.” I couldn’t help but smile at him in relief. “Part twelve. In order to seal our ‘Blessed Union,’ the Betrotheds must ‘Appear on the Town Common by Sundown, on the Eighth Sunday of the betrothal period,restate their oaths, and blow the bugle again.” I rolled up the scroll, set it on the table, and dusted my hands triumphantly. “There’s nowaywe’re going to check off everything on the list.”
“Not planning to fall in love with me in the next eight weeks, then?” he teased.
“Please. About as likely as you are to fall in love with me,” I scoffed.
Attraction was one thing. Love? No. I could hardly fall in love with someone who was so incredibly off-limits.
“There are not enough Rusty Spikes in all the land,” Webb assured me. He held out a hand to shake, like we were making a deal, and I took it in mine, studiously ignoring how the slide of his callused fingers felt against my palm.
“So we agree,” Webb said. “The easiest way to handle this handfasting is to ignore it as much as possible and let the whole thing blow over?”
“Absolutely. We may have stumbled into this handfasting thing,but,” I said firmly, “there is obviously no way we could end up accidentally married.”
ChapterTen
WEBB
