Page 21 of Holiday Cheese and Capers
His hands shook as he reached up and grabbed the first piece of muslin.
It came down easily, the fabric soft and ever so slightly damp. He shoved it into a drawer under one of the worktables. Then another. And another. Working quickly now, his heart pounding, he tore down the carefully dyed cloths and stashed them anywhere he could find space. In drawers, in cabinets, behind bales of hay.
I’ll put them back later, he told himself.This isn’t permanent. Just enough to cause a delay. Just enough to keep her here.
At the oppositeend of the barn, Exandra snuck inside through the stable.
She’d told herself she was just checking the perimeter. Looking for signs of any potential interlopers, if not for an actual Culture Vulture. She was still doing her job.
But the truth—the truth she could barely admit to herself—was that she wasfurious. Furious and jealous of Blythe Meadowsweet for touchingherBayard. Not that she had any right to think of him that way. She was also furious with Bayard for not seeming to mind the fawning attention. He’d seemed perfectly content to let the beautiful witch drool all over him like he was a hunk of her psychedelic cheese. And most of all, Exandra was furious with herself for caring so much when shehad no claim on him, no right to be possessive, no reason to feel this burning jealousy except?—
Except shelovedhim.
She had always loved him. Would always love him. And would never be able to have him.
The rage that this thought unleashed was sudden and fierce. Her hands found the nearest square of hanging muslin and tore it down. Then another. She stamped them on the dirt floor, grinding the carefully dyed fabric under her boots, selfishly ruining hours of work because she couldn’t have what she wanted and it just wasn’tfair.
Bayard and Exandraworked their way toward each other through the vast barn, each consumed by their own guilt and desperation and grief, separated only by layers of hanging fabric.
Bayard grabbed another cloth, shoving it behind the rack of brown wrapping paper. Exandra tore down three more squares, crumpling them in her fists.
Bayard pushed past a curtain of orange and gold.
Exandra ducked under swaying squares of blue and green.
The rainbow light filtering through the muslin created an otherworldly atmosphere, turning everything soft and surreal.
They were each clearing a path, getting closer to each other.
Closer.
And closer.
And then, they were standing face to face, both reaching for the same square of purple cloth that cast them both in violet light.
For a long moment, they just stared at each other, frozen.
“What on earth are you doing?” Exandra whispered.
“Maybe you want to tell me what you are doing first?” Bayard shot back.
They looked long and hard at each other, neither brave enough to fully confess their wrongdoing. At last, Exandra broke the silence.
“Oh, gods,” Exandra said, her voice breaking. “Bayard, what are we?—”
“I was investigating,” he said quickly. “I found evidence of tampering. Someone’s been in here, and I was trying to?—”
“Oh! Me, too,” she said, seizing on the excuse. “I found evidence. Of tampering. That’s why I was?—”
They both knew they were lying. They both knew the other one knew, too.
But admitting the truth meant admitting a great deal more, and neither of them was quite brave enough for that yet.
“We need to fix this,” Bayard said softly. “Before anyone sees.”
“Yes.” Exandra was already moving, gathering and shaking out the clothes she’d trampled. “The dwarves will be back soon.”
They worked together in silence at first, rehanging the muslin, smoothing out the wrinkles, retrieving the pieces Bayard had hidden. Their hands brushed occasionally, and each time they did, it generated a small electric shock.
