Chapter fourteen
It was strange to be pulled into two different places simultaneously . While the Horseman’s physical body sat in the cabin, a part of his sight, smell, and hearing lay far away with Katrina as she carried his pumpkin head into the village.
The Horseman kept his expression still, wary of the emotions that may flash across his face, but he drank in every detail he could.
A dozen sounds competed for his attention: the hammering on wood, the crying of a baby, the chatter between women, and the clomping of horses crossing the road.
Golden leaves fluttered in the wind, their hue richer in the daylight.
He had never stepped foot into town, yet every clack of her heels against the cobblestone streets and every quaint brick and wooden store they passed inspired affections inside him.
The hollowness where the missing part of him lay dormant suddenly reverberated with faint echoes.
The warmth of a fireplace—the smell of spices and sugar—flickered at the edges of his mind.
Katrina held the pumpkin by her side, her fingers wrapping around its base. People eyed her, inquisitive about the object she toted around, but she pushed her shoulders back and carried on nonchalantly.
A strange tightness coiled in his chest at how freely she could move around the village—at how close she could be around others. He’d lived in the darkness for so long that he forgot the taste of walking in the daylight without fear. A pang of longing struck his heart.
What would living as a normal man at her side be like?
When Katrina turned down the main road, his body stiffened inside his cabin in the forest. Something inside him lurched at the sight of a wooden structure with painted blue gables and shutters.
Window boxes filled with late autumn blooms perked cheerily in the sun.
Smoke curled from the chimney, and the sweet scent of almonds, chocolate, and apples carried on the gentle breeze.
A blue sign with white painted words “The Sweet Mill” swung above the open door.
Warmth blazed through him at the invisible rope pulling him toward the building.
“This direction?” Katrina whispered, and he cooled when she turned left.
“What about this direction?” she asked, and he physically warmed when she pivoted right.
After a few minutes of playing the hot and cold game, Katrina finally entered through the cafe door, which had a slight crack in its wood.
A ball ramming into the door. A stern rebuke. Guilt.
The Horseman blinked at the surge of vague images reeling in his mind. Somehow, he knew the history behind that weathered door.
A wave of smells overpowered his senses, jerking him back to the present.
At the front of the store, a counter full of baked goods sat.
Desserts like lemon blueberry cork cake, stroopwafels, caramel cookies, Tangled Britches, candy apricots, cookies in the shape of windmills, and apple tarts were laid out in a delectable fashion.
Katrina approached the counter, and the steam of apple cider rising from the pots behind caught his eye. He could almost taste the crisp apples, the hint of spice, a splash of orange and cinnamon. Every ingredient flooded into his memories.
How did he know the taste of that drink?
A woman with kind brown eyes turned from filling drinks behind the counter. Gray streaked through her chocolate curls, and the wrinkles around her mouth were a testament to how much she smiled. Slightly wrinkled hands dusted the flour from her apron.
“Good afternoon, Miss Van Tassel,” the woman greeted. “What may I do for you today?”
A pressure built in his mind, like a flood of water smashing against a dam. It took all his self-control not to wince at the ache begging to be released. The tension battered against him again and again until he clenched his fists over his lap.
Katrina smiled, and the woman glanced at his pumpkin head. “Why, what is this you have, carrying around?”
“Oh, one of the farmers let me have one of their leftover pumpkins. This one looked friendly, and I figured my brother would enjoy his company. I think his smile is charming and would brighten his grave.”
The Horseman couldn’t help the heat radiating through the pumpkin at the compliment. The woman laughed in a bright and familiar sound. “I think so, too. Would you like anything today?”
“A cup of hot chocolate and one of your apple tarts, please,” Katrina said cheerily.
“Coming right up,” the woman said with a wink and gestured to a small table near the window, where there was a clear view of a forest beyond—a place where he had often lingered himself.
Katrina sat and placed him gently on a wooden table. Lowering her voice, she said, “I know you can’t speak back to me, but is this where you wanted to go?”
She wrapped her hands on either side of his carved features. He warmed against her, and she nodded.
“That’s what I thought. I wonder why you’re so drawn to this place. They have wonderful sweets here, but that can’t be the only reason. Let's investigate after.”
After a few minutes, the woman carried a small tray over. “Thank you, dearie, for waiting. Here’s your hot chocolate,” she said. The teacup clinked on the table. “And your apple tart.”
Sweet, sugary apples glinted against a creamy glaze in the light. Fresh whipped cream topped the dessert and the steaming hot chocolate.
“Thank you. This looks quite delicious as always,” Katrina said.
The woman smiled, and a clawing sense of longing curled into his chest. Every line and curve of her lips seemed etched into his soul, but he still couldn’t recall why. The longer he stared at the woman, the more a crushing pain ripped through his heart.