Chapter 12 Abigail
Chapter twelve
Abigail
The fiddle played, and the tavern patrons talked, and Abigail just enjoyed being in her element and watching Roan in his.
They were running out of time. She knew it. But until they did, she meant to enjoy this.
She didn’t know if Roan would remember anything after tomorrow, or if she would, or what would happen with the curse at all. But this might be their last night, if she remembered correctly what day Beastie had destroyed the ball.
She poured Conrad another ale and slid it over in front of him before he could finish his first one.
“I’m not done yet,” he said, gesturing to his still half-full glass.
“I know,” she said.
If she couldn’t be ready for anything else, she could be ready for Conrad’s next drink.
Roan appeared next to her, his presence grounding her. Maybe she didn’t know what their future held, but if the two of them were together for it, she had no doubt that it would be okay.
Even if they forgot everything, they would find their way to each other again.
At least, she hoped that was how it would work.
She sighed and reached over to take his hand, needing a little extra comfort for a moment. Roan laced his fingers through hers and squeezed tightly. Their hands were beneath the bar, so Conrad shouldn’t have been able to see anything, but he looked between the two of them in suspicion.
“You two look awful cozy,” he said, directing his thoughts to Abigail, who could feel herself blushing.
“Knock it off, Conrad,” Roan said.
“I’m just saying,” Conrad said, raising his hands in innocence. “I like it.”
“I’m sure you do,” Roan said, glaring at him.
“I think I’m gonna go talk to Tanner,” Conrad said with a grin, taking the full glass and leaving the bar.
Abigail let herself lean into Roan’s side a little, her head resting on his shoulder.
“One more night,” she said.
“I know.” Roan’s voice was as heavy as she felt.
“You still don’t remember,” she said. It wasn’t a question.
“No.” The words were harsh, so reminiscent of the Roan before the curse.
She hadn’t missed that. “We’ll figure it out,” she said quietly.
Roan sighed and let go of her hand to wrap his arm around her waist and pull her closer. “I know we will, darling.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and Abigail tried not to melt into his arms.
Tomorrow, they would find out what was going to happen.
Tonight, she would savor every moment with him.
Abigail woke the next morning with a sense of finality in her bones.
It was the last day.
She’d done everything she could, and now it was up to Roan and the curse.
The sun had not yet risen, but she could tell it was coming, and she couldn’t sleep anymore, so she got up and started making tea. If she couldn’t sleep, at least she could get something done.
She made her way out into the tavern, planting her hands on her hips as she looked around the room at everything she had accomplished since the curse sent them back in time.
The whole room felt different with the curtains gone. Even in the early morning, with the light barely beginning to shine through, the room felt bigger and brighter, and it almost sparkled after all the cleaning she had done.
The warm glow of the dream world almost existed in the waking world as the sunrise began peeking through the windows.
She looked around in satisfaction, her eyes landing on the tapestry that Roan’s grandmother had made with the lucky goat embroidered on it. She frowned at the rip, which seemed as if it had grown larger this week, though surely it hadn’t.
Perhaps Roan wouldn’t mind her fixing it now that things had changed between them. But perhaps it was best to ask for permission first this time, instead of throwing herself into it as she always did and getting in trouble for it.
She made her way back to the kitchen just in time as Beastie bounded in and scratched at the back door.
“Good morning, Beastie,” she said, scratching under her ear as she opened the door and let her out.
She followed Beastie into the garden, sitting down on the edge of one of the beds that they’d fixed together and drawing in a few deep breaths of the fresh morning air. There was something special about an early summer morning when the breeze went through your hair. It was perfect.
Except for the lingering realization that everything could be ripped away from her after today.
She took a deep breath. She couldn’t worry about that now—if she did, she would be worrying all day, and she had a few more tasks to accomplish before, if all went well, life returned to normal.
She made her way back into the kitchen, and Roan was there putting the kettle back on.
“Good morning,” he said, his voice rough with sleep and his hair mussed. “You’re up early.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” she admitted. “You’re putting the kettle on?”
Roan grinned. “I am capable of doing some things for myself,” he said. “I know you do most of them when we’re here, but believe it or not, I do actually take care of myself when I’m at home.”
“I am glad to see that you have those skills,” she teased, “and that you’re not entirely reliant upon me.”
Roan smiled but ducked his head. “I’m more reliant upon you than you know,” he said.
“I know.” Abigail grinned. “And don’t forget it. I do have a question for you, however.”
Roan glanced at her sideways.
She took a deep breath. “May I mend your grandmother’s tapestry before the tear gets any worse?
I realize I should have asked for permission before trying to do it last time, and I’m sorry that I didn’t, but I really want to fix it so that it doesn’t get worse, because I know how important the tapestry is to you and how important the tavern is.
And I would hate to see something that your grandmother worked so hard on fall apart because it wasn’t fixed when I know that I can fix it, and I—hopefully you won’t even be able to notice and—”
“Abigail,” Roan said, cutting her off.
“I talk too much, I know,” she said, wilting a little, looking down at her feet. “Sorry, I just got nervous.”
“You may fix it,” he said, reaching over to lift her chin so she looked at him. “And I’m sorry I was such a beast last time, when you were only trying to fix it for me. That was unkind of me, and I’m sorry.”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “It was a little,” she admitted. “You’re sure I can fix it?”
“I trust you,” he said.
Warmth flooded Abigail at those words. He trusted her. That was something she hadn’t heard him say…ever. And judging by how surprised he looked, perhaps he hadn’t ever said it before.
“Do you want help getting it down?” he asked.
“Yes, please,” Abigail said. “I don’t need to fall off the ladder again, even if you’re there to catch me.”
“I’ll always catch you.” She warmed at his words. “But still, I’d rather you didn’t fall.”
They could agree on that, at least.
Abigail reached for her sewing bag, and they made their way out into the tavern. Roan took the ladder from underneath the attic hatch, placing it just to the side of the tapestry.
She reached for a rung as if she was going to climb it, and Roan frowned, putting himself between her and it.
“I’ll get it,” he said. “No more ladders for you.”
“I can manage a ladder just fine if someone doesn’t scare me by shouting out my name,” she pointed out. “I took down all the curtains, didn’t I?”
Roan didn’t say anything, simply gave her a withering glare as he began to climb the ladder. Abigail rolled her eyes—she wasn’t helpless—but stood at the bottom anyway.
She wasn’t sure what she was going to do if he fell. She certainly couldn’t catch him the way he’d caught her, but she felt better standing near him.
She watched as he carefully unhooked the tapestry, then shifted his weight to lean toward her. The ladder shifted and her heart lurched with it. She reached out to grab it, and when she looked up at Roan, he was smirking at her.
Of course he was.
It was normal for her to be concerned for someone’s safety. He didn’t need to smirk like that.
“Can you take this?” he asked, leaning down with the tapestry draped over his arm.
“Of course,” she said, letting go of the ladder to take it from him.
It was heavy.
She inspected it carefully as Roan climbed down the ladder. His grandmother had clearly been an expert craftsman, and aside from the tear, it was in excellent shape.
“What caused the tear?” Abigail asked as Roan took the tapestry from her and carried it over to the bar, where she perched on a bar stool and reached for her needle and thread.
“There was a brawl,” Roan said, disgust lacing the words.
“Who started it?” Abigail asked.
“It was before you came,” he said, “and I never let the instigators come back. That was the first brawl Beastie broke up. She was so young then, and she did an incredible job. And ever since then, I let her handle any issues as they start to come up. You know everyone has a healthy fear of her now.” He grinned.
“That’s why. In order to get the first instigator off the second, she grabbed his arm with her mouth to pull him away. ”
Abigail grimaced at the thought of those huge jaws locking down around her arm.
“She did it gently,” Roan said, his pride evident as he began wiping down the counter, though it hardly needed it. “But I’m sure you can imagine.”
Abigail let out a grunt. “I wouldn’t want to be him.”
“Me neither,” Roan said. “So you can see why he isn’t coming back. Not that I would allow him to, even if he wanted to.”
Abigail found the thread that matched the deep green the best before inspecting the tear once more to ascertain where she should start. She placed the needle at the edge of the tapestry and tested carefully to see if she could push it through, but the needle slipped through and pricked her finger.
“Ouch,” she said, shaking her hand before bringing her finger to her mouth to suck on the prick.
“What’s wrong?” Roan asked, dropping the pitcher he had been moving and hurrying to her side.
Abigail inspected her finger, watching as a tiny dot of blood welled up. “I just pricked myself. I don’t think I got any blood on the tapestry.”
Roan took her hand in his, inspecting it for a moment, before leaning forward and placing a gentle kiss on her knuckles. “I’m not worried about the tapestry. I care more about you.”
At his words, a beam of light began to show from her finger.
Abigail’s eyes widened.
Was this the end of the curse?