26. Penny
Penny
A fter a few weeks, I found routine in Ashpoint.
I worked with Kit in the forge in the mornings, then visited Rosie after lunch and practiced baking.
She had a seemingly endless repertoire of recipes to teach me and a few she was just learning herself.
If I was honest, I enjoyed the cozy comfort of Rosie’s home more than the stifling heat and sweat in the smithy, but I preferred Kit’s company over anything else.
He was kinder by the day, endlessly patient with my efforts at leatherworking, and so damn handsome I often stopped my work to stare. His nightly returns home reminded me of my father ending his days in the fields and the way my mother happily doted on him, so I tried my best to do the same.
I made dinner, kept us well-stocked in all manner of pastries, and whiled away the evenings telling Kit about Rosie’s family, her cat that was expecting a litter of kittens, and sharing occasional stories from my home in Eastcliff.
He listened. Better than anyone I’d ever known. And, when he smiled, it stirred up my insides .
That night I was bursting to tell him about selling my first commissioned piece from the smithy.
Rosie’s father had asked if I could make him a sheath for his gardening shears.
I assumed he was taking pity on me or simply trying to be kind, but when I delivered the leather holster etched with curling vines and wide leaves, his approval felt genuine.
With coin in my pocket, I bragged to Kit, and he smiled so wide I blurted without thinking.
“Can I take you to dinner?”
Immediately, all signs of cheer left his face. “We have plenty to eat here.” He glanced toward the kitchen and the cabinets that were, indeed, well-stocked. “If there’s something you need, I could run to the market…”
Perched on the couch beside him, I wrung my hands together. “I’d like to try the tavern in town. I have money.” I patted my pocket. “You’ve paid my way for everything so far. For once, I can return the favor.”
As settled as I was in Ashpoint, Kit remained wary.
He avoided socializing with our neighbors and kept conversations with his customers in the smithy to strictly business.
Even when the other initiates came around, Kit made no effort to befriend them.
It didn’t surprise me that he would prefer to stay in since he seemed to feel safest at home, but I couldn’t miss the chance to do something different. Something special.
With his dark eyes still narrow, he replied slowly, “I’m more than able to cook dinner sometimes if you want a break.”
“I want to take you out,” I insisted, resisting the urge to grab his hands and pull him with me as I stood. “To thank you. For everything.” A smile curved my lips and, finally, Kit gave a reluctant nod.
The sun was setting as we walked across town. Shops were closing for the night, but the tavern remained aglow with golden light that streamed through its open windows. The faint sounds of a flute and lyre lured us across the square.
When we got close enough, I rushed ahead, grabbing the gnarled wood handle and pulling the door open for Kit to enter. He paused before the threshold and frowned at me before I beckoned him ahead.
Upon entering the tavern, music and motion overwhelmed me.
Booths lined the walls with the center of the room reserved for couples that twirled and dipped in time to the jaunty tune.
At the tables, people sipped steins of ale and chatted amiably while servers bustled about delivering food and drinks.
But the smell was the best part. The aroma of savory roasted meat with heavy notes of herbs wafted through the air. A stew, maybe. My mouth watered.
Kit lingered in the entry until I caught his arm and tugged him toward an empty table in the far corner.
Reaching the booth, I slid into the wooden seat, and Kit took his place across from me. I didn’t realize I’d been grinning or for how long until my cheeks started to ache, and I forced myself to take on at least a shade of the stoicism that had dominated Kit’s features since we’d arrived.
“It’s louder in here than I remember,” he muttered, and then I was beaming again.
“Get whatever you’d like,” I encouraged him. “Food, ale…”
A woman arrived beside us. Her brown hair was wound in a loose topknot and an apron was tied around her waist.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” she greeted without looking up from straightening the bow in the apron string, and I turned toward her, smiling until I saw her face .
“Tessa.” I swallowed while the warmth drained from me.
She brightened. “Penny!” Her head whipped toward Kit. “That means you must be the mysterious Kitingor Koesters. I’ve been wondering when we would finally meet.”
“I didn’t know you worked here,” I said, trying and failing to draw the woman’s attention.
If I had known, I would have stayed away.
More than once, Tessa had intruded on my baking lessons with Rosie.
Rarely interested in the work we were doing, certainly never helping, she lazed about, dominating conversation with her woes as a single woman of marrying age or bragging about her skills as a seamstress, or her penmanship, or the grand meal she would be making that night for her family.
As often as not, she found a way to work a mention of Kit into our talks, all but begging me to bring him along to meet her. I’d done the opposite—selfishly, perhaps. Now, all my efforts were being undone before me.
“I’ll have a whiskey,” Kit told Tessa, so succinct it was almost enough to restore my sunny mood. “And what do you have for the meal?”
“Today’s special is beef with roast vegetables,” Tessa replied. She stared hard at him, her eyes dipping up and down as though taking him in head to toe.
“Two of those,” I cut in. “And an ale for me.”
Tessa nodded and a few brown locks swung loose around her narrow face. “I’ll get right on that.”
She left, and Kit leaned back in his seat, picking at a knot in the wooden slab of the table.
“How do you know her?” he asked after a pause.
I pitched forward, propping my elbows on the table and catching my chin in my palms. “She’s another initiate. And Rosie’s friend.”
“Ah.” Kit nodded. He looked ready to say more when Tessa returned carrying a tin mug and a larger stein that she set between us.
Her cheeks were flushed, and she seemed a bit harried, likely from the rush she must have been in to get to the kitchen and back with our drinks.
“Apologies.” She flashed a smile. “I forgot what you wanted to eat.”
I doubted that. “Two roasts,” I said before Kit could. “Thank you.”
I hoped that would dismiss her, but she stayed, shifting back and bumping her hip into the bench seat beside Kit.
“So, Kitingor,” she began, confirming my suspicions that she’d only forgotten our order as an excuse to try to talk to Kit.
“It’s Kit,” I corrected her. “Just Kit.”
Her smile flagged, then returned in force. “Just Kit, then. I hear you’re an exceptional blacksmith. That sounds like hard work. Must require a strong body and firm hand.” She reached toward him, and her fingers almost brushed his arm before I interrupted again.
“He has a good appetite, too,” I said. “Would like his dinner sooner rather than later, I’d think.”
Kit glanced at me with one brow raised. Curious and a bit amused if the tilt of his lips was any indication. He took his cup of whiskey and raised it for a long, slow sip.
Tessa glowered. “Of course,” she muttered, then flounced away.
I watched her leave, unaware I was scowling until Kit spoke again.
“What’s gotten into you tonight?”
“Me?” I blanched .
“Mmhmm.” He nodded. “You seem a little… on edge.”
I looked across the room, watching the dancers with their arms looped around each other, swaying and stepping as one. It would surely be too bold to ask Kit to dance, but I imagined how it might feel to be held against him, laughing and spinning till we were both dizzy.
That wasn’t the reason I’d asked him here. My intentions had been far simpler.
“Wanted some privacy, that’s all,” I said.
“If you wanted that, we should have stayed home.” Kit smirked, then lifted his cup for another drink.
But we had it now. A moment alone. It shouldn’t have felt so novel; I had Kit to myself every morning and evening, but this was meant to be special.
Finally, I cleared my throat and asked, “Any new work in the forge?”
Kit eyed me over his whiskey. “Nothing of note. Why don’t you tell me about your lessons with Rosie? Didn’t you meet her mother the other day?”
I did. She was a kindly woman with round, pink cheeks and a comforting presence that reminded me so much of home. She took to me readily, insisting I stay for dinner and including me in the meal preparations. I enjoyed that almost more than rolling out tart crusts with Rosie.
No sooner had I drawn breath to answer than did another familiar face arrive tableside. Rosie stood as though summoned by my thoughts, heavy laden with a wicker basket tented with a gingham napkin.
She exclaimed my name and stepped in to throw her free arm around my neck. Turning toward Kit, she offered a more subdued greeting, then pulled back the corner of the cloth to show off the cherry tarts stacked inside her basket .
“Remember these?” she asked. “The tavern is going to start selling them. Now that I have help, I can make enough to keep them stocked here and in my stand as well!”
I smiled. “That’s wonderful!”
She bobbed her head, and her braids swished across her shoulders. She glanced side to side at Kit and me. “Have you been here long?”
“Just arrived,” I replied.
She brightened. “Oh, good! I may get some dinner while I’m here. Mind if I join you?”
I opened my mouth to respond, but Tessa’s voice came through first.
“Rosie!” Tessa crowded in bearing two plates of roast and vegetables. When she set them on the table, I noticed the one she gave to Kit was full to overflowing, easily double the portion of mine.
Rosie turned toward her. “Tess, you’re working tonight?”