“I’m a soldier. Go where I’m told, I suppose.”
“What of when you retire?”
“Does it matter?”
She paused and eyed him. “Are you serious about courting me, or am I just an amusement for while you’re in town?”
His smile proved slow and sexy as he said, “I’ve never been more serious about anything.”
“But you’ll leave soon.”
“I will, but not by choice. Being a soldier isn’t as wondrous a career as I expected.”
“You could retire early.”
“And become what?
“My father is looking for an apprentice.”
“Me, a baker?” He wrinkled his nose.
At that dubious reply, Alva chuckled. “Not unless you plan on us going out of business. Lucky for you, once my parents retire, I can do the majority of the cooking while you manage the rest.”
Currently, her mother handled the supplies and other aspects of running the family business. Alva could bake, but she didn’t have a head for numbers. It seemed a good solution, but Guntar recoiled.
“I’d be beholden to your father. A man should be able to support his wife and family.”
“Think of it as a partnership with us both contributing our strengths.” And the least romantic thing ever. But she’d had romance. It’d flamed hot while it lasted and hurt for even longer when it went away and died.
“Still sounds like charity.” He grimaced.
“Some people would see it as an opportunity.” And she couldn’t help but feel miffed that he didn’t seem keen. Perhaps his courting wasn’t serious, after all.
Was she wasting her time? She’d wasted years already. She couldn’t afford to squander any more. No one wanted to marry a spinster.
“Some people would,” he drawled, “but perhaps you haven’t noticed that it’s not your bakery I’m interested in but you.” His gaze was intent, and for a second, Alva thought he’d kiss her. Was even ready for it this time.
A distant howl had Guntar stiffening.
“It’s late. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He turned to leave.
She became the bold one. She grabbed him, and when he spun to say, “What—?” she kissed him—a brief press of lips. And then she fled.
That night, she dreamed of that kiss again, only when her eyes opened, it wasn’t Guntar but Anders. His eyes were blue fire, his face twisted in a rictus as he yelled, “You promised!”
And then she was running, running, running, chased by something that growled and snapped at her heels.
CHAPTER EIGHT
A restless sleep didn’t keep Alva from waking early to get started in the bakery. As most people were still rolling out of bed, Alva pulled fresh loaves of bread from the oven. The smell never failed to fill her with happiness. And that taste, slathered with butter while it still steamed in her grip?
The best thing ever.
By midmorning, she had personally delivered fresh-baked items to those who paid a little extra for the convenience. More snow had fallen overnight, the wet kind that stuck tight when squeezed. The children had already begun building masterpieces. Snowmen wearing any discarded bits they could scavenge. Forts made of packed snow, stocked with balls, which inevitably led to war. Hooting and hollering filled the streets as a snowball fight erupted.
Caught in the middle, a missile hit Alva in the skirts, but rather than scold the children playing, she grinned and dropped to scoop and form her own weapon. Her throw wasn’t any good, but that didn’t stop her from joining in.
Running around, Alva laughed. Yelled when she got hit. Huffed the cold air hard enough that it burned her lungs.
I feel so alive.
The past three years had been spent with building anxiety that’d kept her from enjoying life. As if by laughing or smiling, she somehow disrespected her promise to Anders. Because if she allowed herself to be happy, she’d be giving up on their love.
But how long was she supposed to wait? Even a widow was only expected to mourn for a year.
Enough was enough. Either she moved on or she’d be that spinster everyone pitied, living in a family member’s attic. Always feeding the cats and pigeons.
The snowball war concluded as the area turned to a mucky slush. People returned to their tasks or hurried on their way, the children going off in groups, replaying the best moments. With flushed cheeks and soaked skirts, Alva entered the warm bakery.
“Ahh.” The heat hit her, and she took a moment to bask in it and the scents.
“There you are. I was starting to wonder,” her mother exclaimed. “What happened to you? Did you slip and fall?” Mama wiped her hands on her apron and bustled out from around the counter.
Alva glanced down at her wet skirts and grinned. “Snowball fight.”
“Not before you dropped off the orders, I hope!” her father rebuked, emerging from the back where all the baking was done.
“Don’t worry, Papa, your cupcakes arrived intact.” She rolled her eyes and laughed again. “You’ll be glad to know, I’ll never be a soldier. I was terrible at it.”
“As if girls can join the army,” her father huffed, turning away.
It made Alva wonder why a woman couldn’t. Women had all the same parts as men but for one. And she didn’t see how that helped in a fight.
“You’re in a good mood,” Mama noted. “Did you have a nice evening with Guntar?”
She didn’t even try to be sly about it. She’d been immensely pleased when Guntar had approached Papa about courting Alva. Another thing Anders never did. She kind of wished he had now. Her parents really respected Guntar’s manners. When they’d discussed it, Anders had worried that her father wouldn’t approve. He never understood that her father would have approved less of knowing just how much they’d snuck around. As it was, when she told her parents that Anders had asked her to be his wife and she’d said yes, her father had been angry. Rare for him. And then he didn’t speak of it again.
“I did have a nice evening.” Hopefully, she hadn’t ruined it at the end by kissing Guntar. She’d been so very forward.
“Will you be going out again today?” Mother pretended to tidy the racks of wares as she slyly asked what she wanted to know.
“I’m not sure yet.” Would Guntar call on her? They’d almost had a spat about the bakery of all things. She’d always assumed her husband would run it with her when she inherited it from her parents.
But Guntar had balked. And she knew Anders had qualms, too. It was why he’d insisted on joining the king’s army. He wanted to prove himself. Which would have been great if he’d returned.
“Do you know when he’s leaving?” Mother asked. She liked Guntar but worried Alva would have another situation where he left, and she waited.
“He hasn’t said. Perhaps he is thinking of retiring and taking up a trade.”
That got her mother bobbing her head. “It would be a good time. Lots of work right now, what with the mayor sending out hunting parties to take care of those wolves in the forest. Seven people dead now. Two from the town.”
The others had been travelers. There might even be more. They only counted the bodies they found. Or, in one case, the wagon without an animal pulling it or a driver.