21. Claire #2
“Mm-hmm.” She leaned back, one arm draped along the back of the bench. “We could always use more people who appreciate goats properly.”
“I’m learning quickly,” I mused, smiling despite myself.
“I can see that.”
Her eyes flicked briefly to my lips and then back up again.
Oh.
Oh.
I blinked, suddenly very aware of how close she was sitting.
“Well,” I said, a touch more carefully now, “it’s certainly been… enlightening.”
“I imagine it has.” She tilted her head, studying me. “And you are?”
“Claire.”
“Claire,” she repeated, like she was testing the name. “It suits you.”
My heart gave a small, inconvenient flutter.
“And you?” I asked.
Before she could answer, Ash’s voice cut through the air like a blade.
“Claire.”
I turned. Ash stood a few paces away, a glass of lemonade in each hand. Her expression...
I stilled.
Her jaw was tight, her eyes narrowed.
Was she angry?
“I got your drink,” Ash ground out, her tone clipped in a way that felt anything but calm.
The woman glanced over her shoulder at Ash then back to me with a flicker of curiosity. “Friend of yours?”
I hesitated. Ash stepped closer. She held out the lemonade toward me, but her attention kept flicking toward the woman beside me.
“This is…?” Ash asked, her voice flat.
The woman didn’t seem the least bit intimidated. “Someone making conversation,” she said smoothly, offering Ash a small smile. “Is that a problem?”
Ash’s grip on the glass tightened. “Yes.”
A beat of silence passed.
Ash’s gaze stayed locked on the woman. “Claire, while you were watching the parade, your coin purse was hanging loose at your waist.”
“And?” I asked, slower now.
Ash’s eyes flicked to me just enough for me to see the irritation there. “And while you were distracted, she slipped her hand into your coin purse.”
“What?”
The woman scoffed. “That’s a bold accusation.”
Ash didn’t even blink. “Don’t play innocent. I was in line and had a clear view of you. You snagged something and tucked it into your sleeve.”
“Oh, did I?”
Ash took a step forward between me and the woman. “Give it back.”
Around us, the parade carried on—laughter, bells, the cheerful bleating of goats—completely at odds with the quiet tension snapping into place here. I swallowed, suddenly very aware of the weight at my hip. Of the purse I hadn’t checked.
Of how easily—
Oh.
My gaze darted back to the woman. She held Ash’s stare for a long moment. Then, with a soft, almost disappointed sigh, she reached into her sleeve.
“Well,” she murmured, “you’re no fun.”
From the fabric, she produced my coin pouch and let it dangle between her fingers for just a second before tossing it toward me. I caught it clumsily, my heart stuttering. My cheeks burned.
The woman’s gaze flicked briefly to me again. “Next time, try not to look so easy.”
And then she was gone.
I stood frozen for a moment, staring down at the pouch in my hands. Then, I looked up at Ash, who was already watching me.
“I—” I started, then stopped, my voice catching awkwardly. “I didn’t even notice,” I admitted quietly.
Ash exhaled through her nose, some of the tension finally easing from her shoulders. “That’s a problem. You’re far too trusting.”
I tightened my grip on the pouch, uneasiness twisting in my chest. And all at once, her earlier words echoed back.
Be careful.
I swallowed.
“You could have just said that,” I muttered.
Ash huffed, dragging a hand down her face. “I did,” she said. She was still standing there, rigid, the lemonade still extended toward me like she’d forgotten she was holding it.
I reached out to take the cup, but the moment our fingers brushed, she yanked her hand away. In the quiet space she left behind, I brought the lemonade to my lips and took a slow sip.
Ash looked like she was reconsidering several life choices.
I cleared my throat, staring very intently at my drink. “Thank you,” I murmured, the words coming out quieter than I intended.
Ash shrugged, a touch too casual. “Don’t mention it.”
She hesitated for half a second before lowering herself beside me on the worn wooden bench, close enough that I was suddenly very aware of the space between us.
I took another sip, mostly to give myself something to do.
“What would you have done if she hadn’t given it back?” I asked after a moment.
Ash leaned back, bracing her hands behind her, gaze drifting toward the crowd. “Taken it,” she answered simply.
I frowned. “Taken it,” I repeated slowly.
“With force, if needed.”
I nearly choked on my lemonade. “With—Ash!” I turned to her, eyes wide. “Why would you do that?”
She glanced at me then, like the answer should have been obvious. A faint flush crept up the back of her neck, dusting her cheeks before she scowled and looked away.
“Because it’s yours,” she muttered, almost under her breath, like she hadn’t meant to say it out loud at all.
Oh.
Well.
That was entirely unhelpful because now I had a new problem, one that had nothing to do with stolen coin purses or suspicious goats. I took another sip of my lemonade as if that might steady me. It didn’t.
Gods help me, I think I was beginning to like her.
How could I be so stupid?
The question echoed through my mind, refusing to quiet no matter how hard I tried to push it away.
It followed me through the remainder of the parade—the cheers, the laughter, even the absurd moment when they selected a goat as the parade winner.
It lingered as we made our way back to the tavern, and it was still there when I lifted a glass of wine to my lips, hoping that it might soften the edges of my thoughts.
Wine, at least, was familiar. Papa had always allowed small sips here and there when we were younger, nothing too strong. This was sweet, too.
I took another sip, letting it settle warmly in my chest. A small smile tugged at my lips.
I liked this far more than rum or whiskey.
Ash sat beside me, her own glass in hand.
She lifted it, took a measured sip and immediately scowled.
I had to bite back a laugh. Yes, definitely not her preference.
Ash was all sharp edges and burning spirits—rum, whiskey—things that matched her.
Not wine.
I turned my attention back to my own glass, finishing it far quicker than I intended. But unlike the rum, this didn’t leave me feeling unsteady or untethered. It was warm, but gentle.
The musicians played near the fire, their instruments weaving together in a melody that drew people in, a few voices rising in song alongside them. The flickering firelight danced across faces, laughter spilling easily into the night. I watched quietly, taking it in.
Once I reached Norwich… would I still have nights like this? Would I be allowed to? Or would everything change?
Then again… I was only here because I was traveling. Ash lived like this. This was her world.
“Hey, Ash?”
“Hmm?” She glanced at me.
“Tell me about your family.”
“They’re alive,” Ash answered matter-of-factly, like that was the beginning and end of it.
“That’s good. My Ma passed a few years ago from a fever.” The words came easier than I expected, though they still carried that familiar ache.
Ash didn’t respond right away. For a moment, I thought she might brush past it, like she had everything else.
But then—
“I’m sorry.”
Her gaze hadn’t quite met mine, fixed somewhere near the fire instead, but there was no sharpness in her voice. No edge. Just… a grounded steadiness.