Chapter Forty-Two
Ava found him in the small alleyway beside the teashop, his back to the wall, his hands braced against his thighs.
‘Damien? Are you—?’
He didn’t look at her straight away. Instead, he stared down at the cobbles, at the puddles yesterday’s rain had left behind.
‘I’m fine,’ he said quietly, his lip twitching up a little, though his features still looked carved from stone. ‘It’s foolish, really.’
‘What’s foolish?’
He straightened, blowing a breath through his teeth. ‘It was just – sitting there, with you all. I didn’t think – I haven’t—’ He stopped, teeth skimming over his lower lip. ‘I didn’t realize how much I’d missed it.’
She heard the ache in those words – the loneliness, rough-edged and worn, like a stone in his pocket.
‘Damien …’
He laughed a little then, though it sounded more like an exhale. ‘I told you it was foolish.’
‘I don’t think it’s foolish at all,’ she said, reaching to take his hand in hers. ‘What was foolish was admitting you liked Mrs Moss’ lemon cheese. For now that’s all she’ll ever gift you.’
‘I did like it.’
‘I saw your face, Damien,’ she said – looking up at him now, his green eyes bright against the clouded sky.
‘You should get back inside,’ he said, as the wind whipped her hair across her face. ‘You haven’t your coat.’
‘Come with me,’ she said – but he shook his head.
‘I have something I need to do. Something I should’ve done a while ago. But, here—’ He pressed a small pile of tickets into her palm. ‘You take these. Hopefully you’ll have some luck.’
She looked down at the thin strips of paper, and then back up at Damien.
‘Promise me you have not tampered with the tombola,’ she said.
The smile that split his face was like lightning. ‘You shall just have to wait and see,’ he said, stepping back from her, and tipping his hat. ‘I have a good feeling about it, though.’
She got her answer but an hour later, when Mrs Moss came to put the small basket of lavender sachets before her – alongside three pots of blackberry jam, and two pots of lemon cheese for Damien.
‘Quite the lucky win,’ she said, patting the sweet-smelling pouches. ‘I made those myself, you know.’
And Ava thought perhaps it was luck.
So long as ‘luck’ had green eyes, and a hole in his boots.