Chapter 15 #3
“Better thorough than thin,” she said. She looked at him. “I just made that up.”
He smiled. “I like it. We’ll cross through names later, then. Let’s work on the conference next, though I don’t know anyone there.”
“I might have a list of attendees in my backpack—”
“On second thought, let’s leave that for now,” he said, catching her hand before she moved. “You’ll chill otherwise.”
She had to agree that she was fairly comfortable where she was and that list wasn’t going anywhere.
She watched him flip another page in her notebook, jot down a few names that gathered together suspiciously under the header of Stratford, then he set her notebook and pen on the coffee table.
He stared at her notebook for a long minute, then sat back and looked at her.
“I’ve changed my mind,” he said seriously. “I don’t think you should be involved in any of this.”
“But I have to at least go to the murder mystery dinner tomorrow night,” she said. “Think of the writers we can observe and potentially knock off our list.”
He shook his head firmly. “I’m not sure how I get out of it, but you could certainly stay here with your parents. Perhaps fortune will smile on us both and Theo will be back in time to worry about poison in his soup, then we can both stay safely here with your parents.”
“You don’t think anyone would really do that, do you?” she asked. “Put poison in the soup?”
“I can’t imagine it, but I’m thinking I should eat beforehand.”
“We,” she said. “We should eat beforehand.”
“But—”
“I’ll be your second.”
He blew his bangs out of his eyes. “Harriet,” he said, dragging her name out accompanied by a sigh of exasperation.
She smiled, partly because she’d never really loved her name until it had been used on her by a charming Englishman, that charming Englishman, and partly because she thought she might just like him. In a friendly, comrade-in-arms sort of way, of course, nothing more.
“If I agree,” he said seriously, “and that is a very large if at this point, then you will stay next to me for the whole of the night.”
“And find myself mugged by the Ferocious Four?” she asked, wondering why when he said things like that, she had to fight the urge to blush. “Forget it. I’m going to be hiding behind Miss Collins.”
He smiled briefly. “Even better. And just so you know, my father would also be telling my mother at this point exactly what she was going to do, certain that he knew the safest course of action for her.”
She had the feeling she knew where that was going. “And what would your mother say back to him?”
“Again, not worth repeating. But,” he added pointedly, “whilst she isn’t at all shy about voicing her opinions, when it comes to the safety of the ke—er, the home and how my father likes to have things arranged, she lets him have his way without drawing a blade and trying to stab him or hitting him with her shoe.
And return, he makes certain that she feels safe and cared for and humored at all times. ”
“Very chivalrous,” she managed, deciding she could leave her mother’s slippers safely stashed under the couch for a bit longer.
He shrugged, but he was smiling. “They have a very happy marriage, I daresay.”
They had certainly raised a lovely son, so she suspected their happiness had spilled over onto their children.
She watched Sam fuss with the cut on the side of his mouth, then gingerly push at his eye that was definitely going to look rough in the morning.
He was also breathing a little raggedly and seemed to be favoring his side, but she didn’t think there was much she could do about that.
“Ice for your face?” she asked.
“Will it help?”
“Let’s try,” she said.
She handed him the blanket and retreated to the kitchen to rummage around in the cottage’s mini fridge. She poached a small bag of frozen peas, wrapped them up in a tea towel, then walked back over to the sofa. Sam stood up and made her a little bow.
“Trade me spots?” he asked.
“Why?”
“Because then I will be the first line of defense if someone comes through the door. That, and I won’t drip on you when the veg melts.”
She didn’t imagine she would be there long enough for that to happen, but she appreciated the thought just the same. She sat down, watched Sam sit down next to her, then listened to a handful of the usual mutterings in French as he held the peas to his eye.
“Where’s my pen—”
“I’ll make you a list of mild epitaphs on the morrow,” he promised. “Cover us up with that blanket, my lady, and let’s enjoy the fire for a bit.”
She put the blanket over them both, then watched him put his hand on his leg, then look at her. She blinked.
“What?”
“I’ve heard,” he said carefully, turning his hand palm up, “that in the midst of trying times friends can offer each other comfort by holding hands.”
Damn it, she was never going to achieve any sort of cool, unflappable solver-of-mysteries persona if she couldn’t get her traitorous blushes under control. Sam was only smiling just the slightest bit which didn’t help at all. She took a deep breath, then put her hand in his.
He had a few interesting calluses there, ones she suspected came from using a sword. It was in all other respects a large, warm, comfortable hand that should have been nice to hold but nothing more.
Only it was more than that, because when she put her hand in his and his fingers closed around hers, she felt her heart sigh just a bit. In the same feeling she’d had when she’d walked into his arms back at the inn.
As if she’d just come home.
She looked at him quickly to find that what she was feeling was somehow written on his face.
“Will you,” he asked quietly, “have dinner with me after all this is sorted?”
She looked at him in surprise. “Dinner?”
He nodded.
She felt herself blush in earnest. It wasn’t that she hadn’t been asked out, generally very awkwardly, before. It was that she’d never been asked out by someone she thought she might like.
Very much.
She didn’t imagine she could deliver any sort of dignified response, but she finally managed to at least look him in the eye and nod.
“Is that an aye, then?” he asked.
She nodded again.
He smiled a little. “I’m going to sit with you here whilst you write in your notebook a hundred times, I said yes to Sam as penance for making me fret.”
“You didn’t fret.”
“You might be surprised.” He nodded toward his shoulder. “Stay for a bit, aye?”
“If you like.”
“I do.” He took her hand in both his own and sighed deeply. “I’ll keep you safe, Harriet.”
She rested her head against his shoulder and had to admit that she felt remarkably safe.
She closed her eyes and supposed the world wouldn’t end if she enlarged the definition of just friends to include a very innocent bit of sofa-sitting with an impossibly adorable man who swore in French, used a sword, and humored her by wearing her father’s pajamas.
She was beginning to wonder if maybe Fate had a different list for her made up of things she never would have suspected might be a part of her life.
She could hardly wait to see what else was on it.