Chapter 16: Escort, You Said

Clem's POV

He opened the cabin door and the warm light fell out over both of us.

I was soaked to the skin, with my hair down and my shoes in my hand.

"You'll catch your death," he said.

"Then let me in."

He stood back.

I walked past him into the cabin, and the stove was still ticking, and the room smelled of wood smoke and bourbon and him.

He shut the door.

Neither of us said anything.

"Hortense offered me two hundred thousand dollars to put you on a boat," he said.

"What did you say?"

"No."

"Did she go to three?"

"Three."

"And?"

"I said no again, and told her about the gate."

I turned around.

"The cook told me," I said.

"In the second year, at Christmas."

"She'd seen a man at the iron bars in a bad suit for forty minutes."

"She'd carried him a glass of lemonade, and he hadn't taken it."

"She described the scar on his chin."

He stared at me.

"Six years," he said.

"I've known for four. I didn't want to hear you say it. I wanted to see if you would."

"You're a hard woman."

"I'm a woman who baked cakes for people who hated her."

He started to laugh and it broke in the middle.

I crossed the cabin and put both hands flat on his chest, and the wet bodice of my dress pressed against his shirt.

"Escort," he said.

I looked up.

"That's what you called me in front of the whole ballroom."

"Your escort."

A corner of his mouth lifted.

"Escort, you said."

"Help only, nothing else until Fat Tuesday."

"How's that rule holding?"

"It's in a coat room on the floor."

"Is it."

"Don't gloat."

"I'm not gloating. I'm asking if I should walk you to your mother's."

"If you do," I said, "I'll hit you with my shoe."

"Then say it."

"I'm taking it back." I took hold of his shirt in both fists. "All of it. I'm tired of waiting for Fat Tuesday."

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