leaned forward, tilting her face into his hand, toward him.
He brushed his mouth over hers, once, twice, then kissed her fully. Completely. He, too, could spot a diamond. But he didn’t want to take anything from her. He wanted to give. All the kisses she could desire, all the massages, all the shared moments, from the silly to the serious and everything in between. He couldn’t stop kissing her. Not when she returned his kisses so sweetly.
But he had no right to such liberties. They had no agreement, no understanding, no future once the snow ceased to fall. A single kiss was one too many. A risk neither of them should have been foolish enough to take.
He pulled his mouth from hers whilst he still had the wherewithal to do so. He turned away before she noticed his discomfort. This was a lovely time to go and stand outside in the freezing weather. A perfect time. It was exactly what he was going to do.
“Biscuits,” he mumbled, because there was no possibility he was going to discuss the kisses they’d shared. “I’ll just pop across the street for some... biscuits.”
He was out through the door and out into the lightly falling snow before he realized he’d left behind his hat and scarf and coat. But if he couldn’t be trusted to keep his hands off Miss Parker, he deserved to freeze his fingers and everything else.
Thanks to his efforts along with the volunteer crew, now the pavements were tidy and the road clear from shovels and sleighs. One needn’t trudge through knee-high snow to cross the street... until morning, when the shoveling would begin anew.
“There he is!” Mr. Bauer chortled when Jonathan walked through the door. “We wondered what mischief you had got up to.”
“Look!” Stephen leaned against the windowsill and stuck out his leg, brandishing his foot this way and that. “I’m ready to go sledding again!”
“So you are,” Jonathan said. “Aim away from the trees.”
Mr. Bauer handed him two parcels. “There you are, then. The first one has extras of the biscuits you like best. The other has Miss Parker’s favorite pie.”
The parcel was in Jonathan’s hands before he realized he hadn’t even ordered yet. The baker remembered him, noted his absence. Wondered what he’d got up to.
It was a heady sensation. He’d never been a regular customer anywhere before. It was rather nice. Rather more than nice. A sinking sensation filled his stomach.
Jonathan was going to miss Cressmouth.
His muscles tightened. He left a pile of coins on the counter for the baker, and tossed a sovereign to Stephen on his way through the door. It must be just as cold out as it was a few minutes ago, but it didn’t feel like it. Not after the warmth of the bakery, in more ways than one.
He was thinking about Angelica. And his secret dream that, one day, he would find someone who would ask him to stay.
The sound of laughter caused him to jerk his gaze toward the castle. A man about Jonathan’s age with black hair and brown skin was pulling two little girls down the hill on wooden sleds. The fresh snow was too high to slide properly, but their obvious merriment indicated it was no less enjoyable.
Jonathan wondered if the family were part of the local Black community Miss Parker had mentioned, or if they were tourists, like him. He called out a greeting as they sledded by.
“Ho, there! The baker’s son has an itch to race sleds, if you’re up for it.”
“Can’t,” one of the girls called back. “We’re on our way to see the horses!”
The man stopped in his tracks, making a big show of stretching out his presumably tired arms from dragging the girls up and down the hill.
Jonathan handed him one of the parcels. “If your arms aren’t too tired, you can share biscuits and shortbread amongst yourselves.”
The man peeked under the brown paper and grinned back at him.
“Share?” he said in a voice clearly meant to carry to his daughters. “I’m the one who’s been treated like a horse. I think all these delicious, fresh biscuits should be for me.”
Both girls squealed and leapt up from their sleds, holding out wool mittens in hopes of a sugared treat.
Their father placed a single biscuit in each pair of outstretched mittens and handed the rest back to Jonathan.
“It’s yours. I’ve got mine.” Jonathan held up the parcel with the pie. “I suspect those two know what to do with a dozen