It's Always Been You (York Family 2)

Life moved on. She’d learned that lesson, at least. Life moved on and she must keep the lie going. It would not go well for her if she dragged around her shop like a grieving widow.

She washed her face and took her hair down to brush it before twisting it up again. Her hair had once been her vanity. In Ceylon it had become a heavy veil that seemed to capture all the moisture from the air and press it to her skin. She’d yearned to shave it off, as many of the men had done. Who would have cared, after all?

But now it was neither vanity nor curse, it was only a chore to be completed.

Turning her mind from the past, she pinned up her hair and hurried down the stairs to set a pot of water on to heat. The present was problem enough. And after that crying fit, she felt almost calm. She’d meant what she’d said to Aidan. What could any explanations matter? She was alive and finally well. And Aidan certainly looked no worse for wear. Older, yes, but strong and healthy. His gloves had looked cut from the finest kid. His hat had been of the latest style.

And nothing, after all, could be changed or taken back. So the present was her only concern. And there were small problems, in addition to the large ones. Her ongoing war with the old stove, which either refused to hold heat or charred anything she tried to cook. The nearly empty bin of beans from Sumatra and the wholesaler’s promise that he would surely have more by Friday. And of course there was Aidan, who meant to return.

She felt sick at the idea, but even his return was a small problem. He would come and he would go, and that would be that. He would have no reason to tell her family. He’d certainly have no reason to try to track down her husband.

She opened the back door and swept the floor, then poured herself a cup of her new coffee blend before putting a sausage on to cook. She couldn’t afford a daily maid, and she was determined to master the simple act of cooking a meal. So far the results had been less than perfect. In fact, she’d given up earlier in the week, but she could not bear another dinner of cheese and bread. She was forced to dare the stove.

Kate sipped her coffee and glared at the pan. The sausage was barely sizzling. She added more coal, then jumped back with a hiss.

“Evil thing,” Kate muttered to the stove, bringing a burnt fingertip to her mouth to soothe the sting. The flames looked too high now, but the sausage was finally cooking. Poking at it with a long fork, she prayed for the best.

What an exhausting day. What an awful day. And she still had to prepare her first delivery for the Stag’s Horn, one of the best inns in town and her first big client. She’d almost forgotten, and that was only proof that nothing good could come of Aidan’s return.

She gave the sausage an angry poke, and in revenge, it rolled away to reveal an underside burnt to black. Kate screeched in wordless frustration, reached for the handle of the pan . . . and remembered at the last possible moment that she didn’t have a rag to protect her from the heat.

“Ha.” She reached in triumph for the cloth, absurdly proud that the sausage hadn’t goaded her into burning her entire palm. “I’m far more clever than you,” she insisted with a smug smile—at the sausage, at the stove, at the whole kitchen.

The rumble of a man clearing his throat chased her triumph away and sent her twisting around, rag clutched like a shield against her chest.

“The door was open. . . .” Aidan gestured toward the alley.

Kate closed her mouth with a snap and glared at him. What was he doing here, taking up far too much space in her tiny box of a kitchen? “You’re not supposed to return until tomorrow.”

He looked as tired as she felt. A small frown caught between his brows, his wide mouth tightened with tension. And those strong shoulders looked hard as stone. “I . . .” He shifted, clasping his hands behind him as he glanced toward the door. “I can’t wait until tomorrow, Katie. Can you?”

She tried to ignore the bright pain in his eyes. “I can’t have a man in my shop after hours. It’s unseemly.”

“Perhaps dinner at the inn then?”

“As you can see, I’ve already started my dinner.”

He raised an eyebrow. His nostrils flared. “I think you may be in need of a new plan.”

She opened her mouth to refuse him again, but her nose caught the acrid odor of burning fat and she groaned instead. “Oh, no.”

Spinning back to the stove, Kate jerked the pan from the fire—using the cloth—and banged it down onto the cool side of the stove. The sausage was black and crispy, and tendrils of smoke curled tauntingly up from the pan. Her eyes narrowed, her hands clenched into tight fists.

“The inn?” he murmured.

She would have ordered him out with no hesitation if there’d been any hint of amusement in his voice, but she heard none. Willing herself to calm, she let out a long, slow breath before turning to face him.

“No.” Her tone was rude but she wasn’t screaming and stomping her feet as she wished to do. That was something.

His jaw clenched, but he held tight to his frustration as well. He dropped his head and frowned at the floor instead of her. “All right. But you said there was a strolling park. It won’t be dark for a half hour yet. Perhaps we could walk.”

She found herself staring at the top of his head. His brown hair was shorter now, but it still looked soft as sable to her. Out of the blue, a memory assaulted her. Of her hand sliding into his hair. Of her fingers gripping the soft strands as he lowered himself over her . . .

“Just a walk,” he whispered. “Please.”

“I’ll need my cloak.” She’d meant to snap the words in irritation, but they emerged as more of a rasp. “Excuse me.” She dropped the rag on the small table and covered the fire before she walked serenely up her stairs. But once she closed the door at the top, she had to lean against it to try to draw a breath past her blocked throat.

She’d forgotten. She’d forgotten everything, and that had been good. To not remember. To not know him. She could not bear much more of this. Aidan was a ghost to her, and she needed him to be unreal.