Margaret grinned.
They ate lunch.
At one point a man Eleanor vaguely recognized from town approached.
“Caleb.”
Then looked at Eleanor.
“Never thought I'd see the day.”
“What day?”
Caleb asked.
“You married.”
Caleb’s hand settled naturally against the back of Eleanor’s chair.
“Neither did I.”
The gesture was small.
But Eleanor felt his palm through the wood.
Fletcher Rutherford sat across the room.
Watching.
Caleb noticed.
His expression sharpened.
Then he did something Eleanor did not expect.
He leaned down.
Close enough that his beard nearly touched her hair.
“May I kiss your cheek?”
Her heartbeat stumbled.
“For evidence?”
“Yes.”
The answer disappointed her.
She hated that.
Eleanor nodded.
Caleb’s lips touched her cheek.
Warm.
Brief.
Far too effective.
Fletcher watched.
So did half the tavern.
Caleb straightened.
Eleanor drank water.
Her face burned.
“Convincing?”
he asked softly.
She did not look at him.
“Annoyingly.”
They returned to the mountain before dark.
Neither mentioned the kiss.
That made it worse.
At supper, silence stretched.
Caleb finally said:
“You’re angry.”
“No.”
“You cut bread aggressively when angry.”
“That is nonsense.”
“You nearly executed the loaf.”
She put down the knife.
“Was the kiss entirely for Fletcher?”
Caleb became still.
There.
The question existed now.
He looked at her.
“What answer do you want?”
“The honest one.”
He leaned back.
“No.”
Eleanor’s throat tightened.
“What part wasn't?”
“The part where I wanted to do it before noticing him.”
Silence.
Caleb’s eyes did not leave hers.
Eleanor asked:
“Why didn't you?”
“The contract.”
“You're allowed to kiss me if I agree.”
“You agreed because we needed evidence.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
Caleb stood.
Crossed toward the stove.
Coward.
Eleanor almost said it.
Instead:
“Do you want me?”
His back remained toward her.
“Yes.”
The simplicity hurt.
Eleanor’s hands tightened together.
“How long?”
“A while.”
“That is not measurable.”
“The first week.”
She stared.
“You barely spoke to me.”
“That helped.”
Despite herself, she smiled.
Caleb turned.
His expression was not amused now.
It was restrained.
Almost severe.
“You are very difficult to ignore.”
Eleanor looked down at her own body.
Old reflex.
Caleb noticed.
His voice changed.
“Don't.”
She looked up.
“Don't what?”
“Assume I mean your face.”
Heat moved through her.
He continued.
“I know what people in Silver Hollow say.”
“Caleb—”
“I've watched you pull your shawl closed every time someone looks too long.”
She could not breathe properly.
His eyes moved over her.
Not crudely.
Not apologetically.
“I am not blind.”
Eleanor whispered: