Page 3 of Bittersweet & Strange

He takes another bite before pointing his spoon in my direction.

“I leave first thing in the morning.”

Relief spreads through me so suddenly that I can’t stop myself from smiling.

“I’m glad you’re feeling well enough to go.”

He leans back in his chair and studies the mountains rising in the distance.

“So am I.”

2

Boone

The carriage is packed long before sunrise.

Bramble stands patiently between the shafts, his harness secured around him. His breath drifts into the cool morning air in pale clouds that disappear almost as quickly as they form. My father sits on the driver’s bench with the reins resting loosely across his lap. The wheels of the carriage sink into the soft earth outside the cottage.

The seed planter occupies most of the storage space in the back.

I helped him load it the night before, surrounding it with layers of wood shavings and folded blankets to keep the gears from shifting during the journey. He inspected it three separate times before declaring it secure. I suspect he would have checked it a fourth if I’d given him the opportunity.

“Bye, Dad! Good luck at the fair tomorrow!”

He smiles. For a moment, I see the man I remember from my childhood instead of the frail figure winter left behind.

“Goodbye, my sweet boy. Take care while I’m gone.”

“I always do.”

He laughs softly. “I’d feel better if that were true.”

I shake my head. Bramble stamps one hoof against the ground, clearly more interested in moving than continuing our conversation.

My father gives the reins a gentle snap. The carriage rolls forward.

I stand in the middle of the dirt lane with my hands tucked into the pockets of my coat. I watch him disappear down the road. The morning sun catches the metal fittings on the carriage wheels before they’re swallowed by the trees lining the edge of the village. Even after he’s gone, I remain there staring at the empty stretch of road leading toward the forest.

The fair is only a day’s journey away. He’ll be back before I know it.

At least, that’s what I tell myself.

I turn toward the cottage and nearly walk straight into Lucien.

My boots slide against the packed earth when I stop short. He’s standing so close to the porch that I have no idea how I failed to notice him.

He’s handsome. I’ll give him that.

Tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed far better than anyone in our village has any reason to be at this hour of the morning, he carries himself with the sort of effortless confidence that draws attention whether he wants it or not.

But he wants it.

Dark hair falls neatly across his forehead. Bright green eyes settle on me with an intensity I’ve spent years trying to avoid.

Every unmarried person in the village wants him. Half the married ones probably do, too. Everyone seems convinced he’s charming. Everyone except me.

And I’m afraid that’s precisely the problem. I don’t understand his interest in me. We have nothing in common. He’s arrogant. He’s self-important. When he doesn’t get what he wants, a sharpness creeps into his smile that always leaves me uneasy.