Page 5 of Autumn be His Wife
Needing to break the spell of my own thoughts, I step into the kitchen. The floorboard gives a soft sigh under my weight. I peer around his formidable silhouette and breathe in deep.
The smell of coffee is immediate, brewed dark and rich enough to taste in the air. Underneath it is something else, the clean, sharp scent of pine sap and cold night air. It clings to him. Is it his soap, something rugged and unsweetened? Or does he spend his free time running through the trees?
At this hour? The thought is completely nonsensical, a fanciful invention of a mind that’s working too hard to explain the unexplainable. It’s so absurd that a small, unintended snort of laughter escapes me.
No, he probably just got wet collecting more wood to throw in the fire. Still, it’s a funny thought.
The sound engulfs the quiet. Dusty jerks as if struck, the spoon clattering against the mug. He turns, his wide, surprisedeyes finding me standing there. There’s exhaustion weighing down his gaze and something else entirely.
“Sorry.” The word slips out of habit, but I can’t find the strength to pull away from him. “Didn’t mean to startle you. I couldn’t sleep.”
His shoulders relax, and he continues preparing his coffee, stopping short to offer a cup.
It might help, so I take it appreciatively.
“I have to get Eli up for school soon. Might as well get what energy you can.” He fetches his spoon, offering it to me. “You’ll have to stay with us as we take on our day. I hope you understand.”
I get it, he doesn’t want to leave me alone in his home, and it’s too early for me to leave to continue my search. We’re strangers. For all he knows, I could be a thief ready to steal all of his valuables the moment an opportunity comes up.
“Happy to do whatever makes me not an inconvenience for you.” Making my cup, my voice stays soft.
“You’re not an inconvenience.”
When I look his way, I catch him frowning at his cup before he drinks down a mouthful.
Just like that, the tingles are back. Saying the words so firmly, there’s no point in arguing. Instead, I flood my cup with enough creamer and sugar to make him grimace.
I don’t drink coffee too often. It’s a bitter drink that needs as much help as it can get to become drinkable. I’m pretty sure he’s drinking it black with a teaspoon’s worth of creamer.
I could never.
He suggests we move to the dining room to sit down. I happily follow behind until I’m settled across from him.
While I sip delicately at my cup, his thumb brushes along the handle.
We both have a secret love for silence. It’s peaceful and calming. How many seconds pass by before he’s ready to break it? Enough to appreciate the most serenity that’s come my way in what feels like years.
“What are you going to do if you can’t find the man you’re looking for?” The question hangs between us, simple and devastating. His frown deepens into a furrow. “And who is Julian Adams?”
He deserves the truth. After his kindness, he at least know who he invited into his home. Maybe if I explain it right, he’ll understand. He’ll see I’m not a fool, just a person out of options. A good person. The kind who wouldn’t hurt a fly.
“I don’t have an answer for the first question.” It’s the most honest thing I’ve said in a while. Thinking about failure is a luxury I can’t afford. “And I don’t know much about him, to be honest. He’s someone I met online.”
A grimace twists my lips the second the words are out. It sounds exactly as naive and reckless as it is. And that’s not even the worst of it.
“I’m, um, supposed to be marrying him when I find him.” Heat flames in my cheeks. I duck my head and take a scalding gulp of coffee, letting the liquid buy me a few seconds of silence. This time, it’s not peaceful.
Dusty makes a choked, coughing sound. When I risk a glance, his frown has hardened, his eyes filled with something that isn’t judgment, but is far from approval.
He doesn’t like the idea one bit from the looks of it.
“You’re going to marry a man you don’t know?” The question is blunt, landing like a physical weight against my chest. “You’re willing to do something that…permanent?”
He might deserve the truth, but his interrogation scrapes at my edges. For all I know, I’ll take one look at Julian Adams andmy courage will vanish like smoke. The whole plan is a house of cards, and Dusty’s questions are a dangerous breeze.
“Maybe,” I whisper, the word coming out shaky. “It’s not like I have much of a choice here…”
The alternative—going back home—is so much worse.Home.The word is a mockery. The house I was sent to after my parents died was just a building with my uncle’s cold presence in it.
