Page 20 of A Scoundrel Under the Mistletoe
Joy crossed the small house toward the room where scents and warmth ought to have greeted her. The kitchen, normally a sanctuary of comfort, stood strangely silent in the morning light that filtered through the small paneled window. The stove was cold, as was the kettle sitting on top.
She lit the stove and filled the kettle from the bucket near the sink, and turned to the cupboards to find tea.
Yet, as Joy opened cupboard after cupboard, a barren larder met her eyes. Where there should have been sacks of flour and sugar, jars of preserves, and pots of honey, there was naught but the echo of emptiness. Well, there was the small tin of tea leaves the innkeeper had sent home with them on the first day of her stay. Was there anything left in it?
“Moses,” she said under her breath, the name rolling off her tongue with an intimacy that was still new, thrilling. “What shall we survive on?”
A soft chuckle escaped her as she imagined the tall, muscular artist, lost in his work, forgetting the mundanities of daily sustenance. She recalled him saying he didn’t cook, but surely he didn’t think to continue to take all his meals at the inn? Now here she was, with a belly gently protesting its neglect.
With resolve firming her features, Joy decided she would request Moses’ company on a trip to the market. It would be an adventure of sorts, trying to recall all the little things she’d had in her own kitchen. She should start a list. Paper and pencils were something he had in abundance.
Finding the utensils she needed, Joy settled into the oversized armchair set between the window and fireplace and began her list. She tucked her feet beneath her, the warmth from the blaze kissing her cheeks, and let her thoughts drift, weaving through memories and possibilities. She considered the quiet of Moses’ home, a striking contrast to the lively bustle of the Peasemore family. She much preferred the peace, she had to admit.
From outside, she heard the sound of footsteps, firm and assured, approaching the door. Joy straightened, her pulse quickening. She felt a stirring in her belly, the excitement of knowing Moses was home. How many years had it been since she’d felt such anticipation over seeing someone? She’d been with Mr. Sinclair for eleven years when he died, and she couldn’t recall a time of excitement in their marriage. He’d been a good provider, with a fair temperament, recommended by her mother as a sensible choice.
Not romantic. Never passionate. But sensible.
She rose, setting aside the pencil and paper, smoothing the fabric of her gown, her movements mirroring the flutter within her chest. The door swung open, and Moses entered, his arms cradling a large box. A warm smile graced his face, the kind that reached his eyes and softened the short beard framing his jaw.
Joy’s heart danced at the site of him, her grateful smile blooming like roses in the first blush of summer. “Good morning.”
“Morning, Joy,” Moses said, shutting the door behind him with his boot.
“Let me help you with that,” Joy offered, taking a bundle from his arm.
As he settled the box upon the kitchen table, Joy peered inside. The contents were simple yet essential, and she felt a surge of relief for the consideration behind their selection. Had he asked the shopkeeper for help in his choices? The mundane task of unpacking groceries became a shared endeavor, turning the ordinary into something quietly intimate.
“It seems I’ve returned just in time to save you from the perils of an empty larder,” Moses joked, playfulness threading through his voice, while his hands busied themselves with arranging the goods on the shelves.
“Indeed, a knight in shining armor bearing sustenance.”
As she set the small brick of yeast next to the flour sack, she wondered if Moses owned a peel suitable for taking the bread out of the oven. She assumed not, and made a mental note to go shopping herself, soon.
Her reverie was interrupted by the sound of the door closing, and she glanced up to see Moses returning, his arms laden with greenery that seemed to capture the very essence of the Yuletide season. Boughs of juniper heavy with blue-tinged berries, sprigs of holly brandishing their prickly leaves and bold red berries, and a single sprig of mistletoe, its pale berries almost otherworldly, were placed ceremoniously upon the table.
“Preparing for a midwinter feast?” Joy inquired, an eyebrow arching playfully as she took in the rustic decorations.
“Christmas is a mere three days away,” Moses stated, the corner of his mouth hinting at a smile. “I thought you might enjoy decorating.”
Joy’s heart swelled with an unexpected sense of tenderness. “Oh, Moses, I’m quite overtaken by all this. Forgive me for not rising earlier to assist you. You should have wakened me.”
He regarded her with his enigmatic eyes, which seemed to twinkle with delight. “There’s nothing to forgive, Joy. A house ought to be a sanctuary of rest for its inhabitants, and it pleases me well to see you so refreshed.”
A warm flush spread across her cheeks. She was a widow in her thirties, yes, but in moments like these, she felt as if life was granting her a second spring. “Nevertheless, I should have liked to have helped,” she insisted, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear.
“Help can be offered in many forms,” he said with a trace of mischief. Before she could question his cryptic words, Moses reached for the sprig of mistletoe, holding it aloft as he stepped closer to her.
The room seemed to still, the crackling fire in the other room the only sound accompanying the thud of Joy’s own heartbeat. The scent of juniper and holly mingled in the air, creating a heady aroma that underscored the palpable tension between them.
“Tradition dictates,” he teased, “that one mustn’t ignore the mistletoe.”
Her lips parted in a silent gasp, mixed with a smile that betrayed her inner delight at the ruse. The devilish glint in his eyes promised a sweetness beyond that of any confectioner’s craft.
With the mistletoe poised just above, he leaned toward her, his intent clear. Anticipation fluttered within her chest. Their breaths mingled, and as his lips met hers in a kiss that was all at once tender and daring, the world outside the warmth of his embrace ceased to exist. Joy found herself surrendering to the allure of his touch, and she hadn’t even broken her fast yet.
The sweetness of their initial kiss deepened, its innocence giving way to an insistent yearning that pulsed through Joy’s veins with a fervor she hadn’t known herself capable of. The tender brush of his lips against hers promised unrestrained passion to come, his muscular arms encircling her in an embrace that melded strength with a gentle touch. Her fingers traced the line of his jaw, feeling the coarse bristles of his beard.
His kiss, gentle at first, grew into a tempestuous storm. His restraint waned as he responded to her exploratory caresses, and the intensity of their connection ignited a flame that threatened to consume them both.
