“Nothing wrong with wanting to be wanted.”
“There is when it makes you ignore everything else.”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“The wrong was his.”
“He knew what you needed to hear.”
“He used it.”
“That’s different.”
Abigail stared.
Simon continued:
“Wanting love isn’t stupidity.”
“Using love as bait is.”
She began crying again.
Simon wiped one tear with his thumb.
Then immediately stopped, as if realizing he had touched her face without asking.
Abigail caught his wrist.
“Don’t.”
His eyes sharpened.
“Don’t stop.”
Simon’s breathing changed.
So did hers.
For the first time, the awareness between them became openly physical.
Abigail could feel his pulse beneath her fingers.
Simon looked at her mouth.
Then away.
That hurt unexpectedly.
“You don’t want me.”
He looked back so quickly she almost laughed.
“What?”
“It’s all right.”
“No.”
“It isn’t.”
“You looked away.”
Simon stood.
Not angrily.
As though distance was necessary.
Abigail’s stomach sank.
Then he said:
“I looked away because I do want you.”
She stared.
Simon ran one hand through his hair.
“You’re living under my roof.”
“You’re hiding from a man who tried to buy you.”
“You depend on me for food.”
“For protection.”
“You’re scared.”
“And I’m not going to become another reason you think saying no could cost you something.”
Abigail had no answer.
Simon continued:
“So yes.”
“I look away sometimes.”
“Because I’m a man.”
“Not stone.”
Her face warmed.
He immediately regretted saying it.
“That sounded—”
“No.”
A small smile appeared.
“It sounded honest.”
Simon looked relieved.
Abigail whispered:
“Do you think I’m beautiful?”
He stared at her.
Then laughed once in disbelief.
“What?”
“I asked a question.”
“You want polite or true?”
Her smile vanished slightly.
“True.”
Simon stepped closer.
“True is I noticed you were beautiful while you were half dead under a tree.”
Abigail’s eyes widened.
“True is I noticed you were beautiful while yelling at me for making bad oatmeal.”
He moved another step.
“True is I notice every time you stand by that window with your hair down.”
Her breath shortened.
“And true is I have spent almost two weeks trying not to look long enough for you to think I expect anything.”
Abigail’s cheeks burned.
Simon stopped in front of her.
“That true enough?”
She whispered:
“Yes.”
He did not kiss her.
That mattered.
He let the answer exist without turning it into payment.
The first kiss came three nights later.
Abigail initiated it.
Simon had been repairing a harness at the table.
She stood nearby reading.
The cabin was warm.
Snow fell quietly outside.
Abigail closed the book.
“Simon.”
He looked up.
She walked toward him.
Stopped.
His expression changed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That isn’t nothing.”
Abigail bent carefully and kissed him.
Briefly.
His entire body went still.
She pulled back.
“Was that all right?”