Chapter 7

Alden

TWO DAYS LATER, I MAKE the walk back to Brookside, this time with my cart even more loaded down than it was before. But it's not as chilly today, and the frost that blanketed the ground early this morning melted off hours ago. Even I have to admit it's beautiful out, and the air has that hint of sweetness that means spring is just around the corner. Maybe winter will end early this year; we could certainly use the warmth.

Almost as soon as I step onto Brookside Road, something rustles a bush off to my left. I pause and tip my head, scanning the dry undergrowth. Everything is dead and brown, so it's easy to spot the pair of big green eyes staring at me from beneath a tall withered flowerhead.

It's Aurora's cat. I don't know its name. But it's staring at me, unblinking.

I feel like I'm supposed to say something.

"Good morning, cat," I say. Then I resume walking .

But the undergrowth keeps rustling, and every time I look down, those green eyes are staring at me. I get the feeling it's judging me.

By the time I make it to the end of the road, the cat has scampered off into the trees. Its going makes me feel better than it should. Who knew a cat could make me feel so... exposed. Weird bugger.

I'm so distracted that it takes me a moment to realize there's movement in the garden.

Movement and . . . singing?

"Oh, the earth turns green and the sky turns blue, in a dance that's ancient and forever true."

It's Aurora's voice, but it has a magical quality to it, and I half expect to see light swirling around her as I take a few steps closer to peer over the garden fence. She's on her knees beside a low garden bed, her long dark green hair pulled back into a braid that swings as she leans forward to pull weeds from the soil.

"From the mountains high to the valleys low, the earth and sky in a waltz they go."

The cat slips through the fence and into the garden, meowing to Aurora as it goes. As if she can understand what it's saying, she whips around, her eyes going wide as they meet mine.

"Oh, Alden. I didn't hear you." She lets out a nervous laugh. "Good morning."

That's the second time she's said my name, and it still has the strangest effect on me. I clear my throat, trying to shake off the desire to hear her say it again.

"Morning. "

Her gaze slides past me, and her pink lips part into an expression of surprise. "Is that...?"

Turning, I follow her gaze to my cart, on top of which I've balanced a mattress.

"It's only lightly used," I explain. "A family in town had it lying around after their daughter moved to Wysteria. If you don't want it, I'll—"

"Of course I want it!" Her voice is so loud it startles me into silence.

The next thing I know, she's racing out of the garden and to the cart, poking a finger and then a whole hand into the mattress to test its softness.

"It's perfect ." Her green eyes meet mine, and my chest tightens up. "Thank you so much."

With her staring at me like that, I suddenly find myself at a loss for words—not that I usually have many to begin with. So instead of responding, I untie the ropes I used to hold the mattress to the cart and heft it onto my shoulder.

Aurora hurries to open the door to the cottage, then follows along behind me like a duckling as I carry the mattress up the creaking stairs and into the south-facing bedroom. Sunlight streams into the space, and a little puff of dust drifts through the rays of light when I settle the mattress onto the floor and lean it up against the wall. Aurora hurriedly grabs the corner of the old moth-eaten mattress still sitting on the bed frame, but she struggles to move it.

Watching her, brow furrowed and tongue poking out the corner of her mouth as she tries to lift the mattress's weight, makes me almost want to smile. But I don't .

Instead, I gently ease her to the side and grab the mattress off the frame, easily moving it out into the hallway so I can take it back down the stairs when we're done. Then I step back into the room, and Aurora scurries out of the way so that I can grab the new mattress and settle it down in the old one's place. It fits perfectly.

I wasn't planning on finding a mattress for her, but when I saw it sitting against a wall in the Clarks' house, I figured I'd ask if they needed someone to take it off their hands. And they did—for a few eldertokens. On the walk here, I told myself I'd ask Aurora for the money, but now, watching her face light up as she sits on the end of the bed and then collapses back into its pillowy softness, I can't bring myself to do it.

And that irritates me.

Why do I care that she's smiling and laughing, her green hair spread out around her like a summer halo? Why do I wish that cat hadn't disturbed Aurora while she was singing, stealing away my chance to hear more?

Without a word, I turn and stride back into the hall, pausing to grab the old mattress before heading down the stairs, my boots heavier on each step than they probably need to be.

Just as I reach the foyer, Aurora calls, "Alden? Is everything all right?"

I wish she'd stop using my name like that. It does things to my chest that I really wish it wouldn't.

"Fine." I clear my throat and turn to look up at her.

She's standing on the first landing, where the stairs make a hard turn, and her long skirt is just brushing the tops of her boots. She's got dirt on the toes, but she doesn't seem to care. And her face is... Is that hurt ? Why would she care about me or anything I'm doing? Her bottom lip is pushed out just a bit, her freckled forehead furrowed in concern.

And I decide I don't like seeing that look on her face—even if it's so delicate and vulnerable that it makes me want to wrap my arms around her. Or maybe that's exactly why I don't like seeing it. I don't want to touch her. I don't .

"Just need to get started. The kitchen floorboards and veranda will take me most of the day."

"Oh. Okay." She reaches out to touch the banister, her long fingers just brushing the glossy wood.

Something about that subtle movement makes me picture her fingers wrapping around something else, and the thought is so shocking to me that it makes my face hot. I whirl around and storm from the cottage.

After replacing the few floorboards in the kitchen, I work on the veranda for the better part of the day. It's a bigger job than fixing the holes in the roof. Some of the wooden beams are rotted through, and I have to carefully replace each section and post one at a time, checking and leveling the porch as I go.

Just like two days ago, Aurora offers me tea and lunch and what look like honey biscuits, but I turn them down. Everything smells delicious, but I don't want her thinking this is more than it is. I don't want to let myself think this is more than it is. I'm just a neighbor doing her a favor, and once I'm done, we'll both go on our way.

I have to keep reminding myself of that fact as she works outside throughout the day .

The weather is warm and beautiful, and she hums to herself as she works on weeding the garden, a big floppy hat shielding her freckled face from the sun. It gets so warm that I peel my tunic off and use it to mop the sweat from my brow, and I pretend not to notice when Aurora looks my way. I wish she'd sing again—I want to hear the rest of her song—but she doesn't grace me with her voice, only the quiet humming as she toils away.

At the end of the day, as I'm packing up my tools to head home, she appears at my side with a bundle wrapped in a sunrise-orange fabric.

"I made too many biscuits," she says, shoving the bundle into my hands before I can say no. Her fingers brush mine, delicate and warm and soft, and her cheeks flame pink at the touch. Hopefully my face isn't doing the same thing. "I won't let you refuse." She hides her hands behind her and takes two big steps away. "It's the least I can do after all you've done for me."

I hold the bundle in my hands, already noting the subtle smell of cinnamon and honey drifting up from the biscuits. And I can't bring myself to tell her no.

"Thank you." I slip the biscuits into my cart where they won't get smooshed and crumble, and Aurora's resulting smile makes heat spread through my chest. I quickly shift my gaze away from her face and to her veranda. "I got that leveled and repaired. Shouldn't have any trouble with it now. I'll be back tomorrow to finish up the framing that needs replaced."

"Okay." She glances down at her boots, and I swear her cheeks turn a deeper shade of pink. "I look forward to it. "

Before I can do something stupid, like tell her I'm looking forward to it too, I grab my cart and start hauling it back down the road, leaving Aurora standing behind me in the rapidly vanishing light.

I spot that cat again as I'm leaving. It's sitting on a stump in the trees, watching me through narrowed green eyes. I swear it's judging me.

And I don't need the cat to tell me what I already know: I'm a damned fool.