I’m just tired. Tired and overwhelmed with the emotion of being back here and seeing him and our house. I missed them both so much.
Which reminds me . . .
I sit up as he takes a scone from the basket. “Where’s Enigma?”
I’d left my kitten here, with William and her mother, Pandora. Taking the little calico to Canada wouldn’t have been fair. This is her home. Yet she can pass through the time stitch, so I’d expected her to be waiting for me.
“She’s off doing kitten things,” he says. “On the other side. Endless mischief, that one. I think I might have spotted her this morning . . .”
Not disappointed. I am not disappointed.
“Give me a few moments to fetch your bags and stable Xanthus. Then we’ll cross over.”
He kisses my forehead and then holds a warm scone to my lips. I smile and take it. As I nibble a toasted edge, he heads for the door. Then he turns and glances back, his lips twitching in a smile.
“Any gifts for me in your bags?” he asks. “Best to warn me, so I don’t accidentally peek.”
“You mean so you know whether there’s any point in peeking.”
His brows arch. “That would be wrong.”
“No, William, there are no gifts for you in my bags.” I take a bite of the scone, drawing out the moment. “I had them shipped to Del and Freya’s. Pre-wrapped. And very well taped.”
“One would think you don’t trust me around them.”
“One would be correct.”
He shakes his head. Then, at the door, he pauses and looks back at me. “You never did tell me what you want for Christmas. You’ll need to do so post-haste, or you’ll wake up to a very sad holiday morning.”
So he hasn’t bought me any gifts yet. He’s waiting to hear what I want . . . when I spent days wandering through wretched shopping malls picking out exactly the right things for him, without so much as a hint about what he’d want.
Not disappointed. I am not disappointed.
The door closes, and I slump into the blankets and sigh.
It’s fine. Really, it’s fine. There are many inconsiderate people in the world, but William isn’t one of them. This is all just new to him.
The man has spent the last decade living alone in the moors, avoiding all but locals and close friends, his family gone, his life shadowed by scandal and rumor. Now, in the space of a half-year, he finds himself married and a father-to-be . . . and living part-time in a world he can barely fathom, a world filled with endless challenges.
It’s a wonder he crossed over to meet me at all. In his place, most people would hide in their own century, popping over only long enough to leave a note saying “Meet me on the other side.” He not only waited here but found a way to surprise me with a flight upgrade and hired car. And I’m disappointed by the lack of a Christmas tree and presents?
By the time he returns, I’m on my feet, face washed, hair brushed, scone basket over my arm.
“All ready to cross over?” he says as he shakes new-fallen snow from his hair.
“I am.” I kiss his cheek. “Thank you for coming to meet me. And for the flight and car.”
“Flight and car? Whatever are you talking about?”
“The upgrades?”
His eyes dance. “Must have been pixies. I can scarcely operate my mobile phone. I’d hardly know how to get you . . . what did you call it? An upgrade?”
I shake my head. He’s right about the phone—so much tech to learn, so little time to learn it when you’re taking care of two houses and two stables.
Luckily, William isn’t afraid to ask for help, and our neighbors Freya and Del are more than happy to provide it. Well, Freya is, at least. Del just quietly comes over and cleans out the stable or mows the lawn, and then, if thanked, he’ll grumble that someone needed to do it.
“We’d best bring a blanket or two,” William says, as he puts out the fire. “I’ll need to light the fireplaces once we cross. Perhaps we should bring a torch as well? I considered leaving a candle burning, but that bloody kitten of yours would have set the house aflame.” He frowns. “I hope she didn’t get into our supper. I ought not to have left it out.”
So I’m leaving this brightly lit, warm house for a cold, dark one with a potentially kitten-nibbled dinner?
I plaster on a smile. “It’ll be fine. I’m just glad to be home.”
He leads me upstairs, flipping off lights as we go. We head to my old bedroom—the one I’d used when I’d visited my aunt. It’s an office now. We’d debated turning it into a nursery, but we’d rather not need to worry about our baby crawling through time during naps. This is where the stitch is located. A link between my old room and William’s.
Why is there a time stitch here? How is there one? What even is it? There are questions we can’t answer and don’t care to.
For years, I’d been the only human who could cross. Then came Pandora, William’s kitty, and later Enigma. After I put the last of the Thorne Manor ghosts to rest, William was able to cross as well.
Could others cross? It isn’t a question we’re ready to answer. The few people who know our secret have decided that, as much as they would love to pass through time, they don’t dare risk being trapped on the wrong side.
We only hope that our child will be able to cross over. If not . . . well, if not, then we’ll have decisions to make, but we trust that if we can—and our cats can—then our child will be able to as well.
We head for the stitch spot without preamble. William takes my hand, and we cross into our other office, which—contrary to his warning—is neither cold nor dark. It’s blazing with light and warmth, the fireplace burning bright.
I turn and smack his arm.
He rubs his arm. “Is that how they use mistletoe in your world? Terribly uncivilized.”
I crane my neck up to see a green and red sphere hanging over the stitch. It’s a kissing ball—an apple covered in foliage and herbs, giving off the most delectable smell. There’s mistletoe, of course, with its bright red berries, but also rosemary and lavender, symbolizing loyalty and devotion.
I smile as I gaze up at the ball. Then I reach for William, but he’s already bending down to pick up a bright red box.
“Your first gift,” he says.
Before I can protest that it’s too early, something inside the box scratches. Then yowls piteously. I sputter a laugh and pull off the perforated lid to see a half-grown calico cat nestled in a bed of blankets with a toy and treats. Enigma glares at me with baleful green eyes.
“Hey,” I say. “I’m not the one who put you in there.”
Enigma continues to glare until I pick her up. Then she settles in on my chest and accepts my petting, even deigns to purr a little.
“I spent all afternoon trying to catch her.” He rolls up his sweater sleeves, revealing a criss-cross of scratches down both arms. “Ungrateful little beast. I told her you were coming home, but did she listen? No. Just wanted to chase mice through the barn.”
I set Enigma on my desk chair. Then I put my arms around William’s neck, leaning back for a kiss. Instead, he scoops me up in his arms.
“There will be none of that,” he says. “You have missed your chance and will need to wait for next Christmas. Do you know how much time I spent crafting that kissing ball? Holiday decorating is exhausting. I cannot imagine all the bother other people go to, putting up trees and hanging wreaths. I hope you’re quite content with that single ornament.”