Thristy Wannabe Hoe

Clare turns with a plate and her eyes widen as she sees him. She looks between the two of you. Her throat locks up.

“Oh, hi,” she squeaks. “Steve, uh, here you go.”

He takes the plate and thanks her, then hands it to you. She watches as her pretty face creases. Her make up gives her a nice glow as her veil shimmers around her hair.

“I’m so happy you could make it,” she says to you.

“Oh, thanks, uh… yeah. Congratulations.” You stammer.

“Here ya are, big man,” her husband steps up and offers a plate to Steve. “Live a little. It’s a wedding.”

“Sam,” Steve drawls as he accepts the cake, his other hand still on yours.

“Well, I see you’re at least having a little fun,” the groom winks. “I don’t know her…”

“My friend from college. Remember,” Clarissa– Clare offers.

“Ah,” Sam’s brows pop up. “Interesting. Well, you two have fun.” He grins. “Oh, and don’t let him get too rowdy.”

Steve hums and leans his arm against yours. He ushers you away as agitation roils off of him. He takes you to one of the tall tables along the wall and you set down your plate. He finally lets go of you but stands right at your side, sleeve brushing your arm.

You pick up the fork as your eyes wander over the space. Some still dance, uninterested in the dessert, as others sit and chatter over the fragrant sponge. You sniff it curiously. You nearly drop it as you spot a man with a woman in his lap, feeding her cake with an intense stare. What the heck?

Another whisper passed between two men and a handshake between a grey-haired guest and groomsman. It’s less and less like a party and more like a business conference. Steve leans into you again.

“You gonna have that cake?” He intones.

You turn back to him. His plate is untouched, fork still resting on the rim. You gulp and steady your grip. His hand brushes down your back and rests right at your waist. You suppress a shiver and slice into the dainty layers.

It’s a curious flavour. Not the vanilla you were expecting. You make a face as he chuckles and drags his fingertips up the back of your dress. He pets the back of your neck.

“No good?” He wonders.

You swallow. “Mm, not bad, I just… I don’t know what the flavour is.”

“Here, gimme some.” He commands.

You blink in confusion. You look down then cut into another morsel. You raise the fork as he leans in. He sucks the cake and icing off the tines and licks his lips. He hums as he tastes it diligently then swallows.

“Saffron… maybe citrus in the icing.” He says.

“Oh… never had saffron,” you murmur.

His hand crawls down and he plays with the strap of your dress. “What would you choose? For a wedding?”

You shrug as you resist another chill. You poke at the cake. “I like strawberry… maybe with dark chocolate…” You mull and glance around. “But weddings seem like a whole lotta work.”

“Big deal, isn’t it?” He says. “Choosing the person you’re gonna be with forever.” He shifts closer. “Doll, did I say that this…” He slides his thumb under the strap of your dress. “Looks amazing on you.”

You squirm and take another bite. Your skin is on fire. He’s not a bad looking man, that’s for sure, but he’s still a stranger. Your plan was cake and dip. You have a long way to go home. The hotel is booked up for the wedding party and you can’t afford the night anyhow.

“Thanks,” you murmur and smile nervously. “That’s…”

His thumb comes up and drags under your lip. “Got some icing there.” He brings his thumb up to suck off the excess.

“Oh, uh,” you use the back of your hand to dab at your mouth.

“It’s alright, doll. I got you.” He once more places his hand on your back and pinches the fabric of your dress. “Finish your cake.”

You flinch. His last words are a firm command. His voice is so certain you don’t dare refuse. He has that way about him. Like refusal isn’t an option. Whatever he wants is inevitable.

You focus on the simple task of eating. It’s delicious but you can barely enjoy it with the new shadow at your side. You finish and place your fork down.

“Steve, I hate to keep you all night and I should be going–”

“Let’s dance,” he interjects and latches onto your hand again.

You stagger beside him as he urges you back to the floor. You’re tired and you just want to head off. You have to factor in the two hours of driving, longer in the dark.

He brings you to face him. You let him lead again.

“Steve, it’s been a lot of fun,” you say above the music. He leans in to hear. “But I have to drive–”

He tilts his head so his mouth is right by your ear. “Doll, you’re not going,” he growls. “Don’t worry about all that. Just be with me.”

You choke on your words. His fingers curl into your side as he once more guides your hand up to his chest. He keeps you close as he sways with you. 

You peek up at him and find him staring down at you. You wince in surprise and he grins. Before you can look away, he catches your chin. He leans in and you gasp just as his lips meet yours.

He keeps a strong hold on your chin as his tongue slides across your lips. He pokes until you let him in. He snarls into your mouth as his arm hooks around you and he crushes you to him.

You can’t help but melt in his embrace, overly aware of those around you. He parts but stays close, his breath fanning over your face. He sighs in content.

She knew you felt tired and overworked lately, unable to catch up on rest or enjoy what little downtime you had. Thankfully, things were about to slow down at work since they hired a couple of new people, but you still had time off that you had to use before the end of the year or you’d lose it. She not only urged you to take a much deserved week off, but offered up a fully stocked cabin she shared with her sister and refused to let you pay.

“Enjoy the time off. That’ll be payment enough for me,” she told you. 

You found the key under the flower pot just where she said it would be. You happily sighed and picked up your bag as you unlocked the door. You wondered if there was a reading nook or if you could read by the fire. Maybe you'd make some tea and pretend your boyfriend made it for you. 

“In my dreams,” you muttered. 

You were painfully single and had been for months, which was easy to blame on work. The last date you went on, the guy had eaten half of your plate and told you it was to help you maintain your figure. Suffice to say you didn't call him again. Natasha told you the right guy would come along. She also offered to ruin your date’s reputation for how he acted. You didn't take her up on it, which she seemed both respectful and disappointed. 

Pushing that thought aside, you smiled and looked around the place once you were inside. Rustic, cozy, and perfect. It was just what you needed. But what you weren't expecting was a large man to suddenly enter the living room, your bag falling from your hand from the shock. 

“Wow,” you whispered. 

The buttons of his plaid shirt were hanging on for dear life from stretching across his broad chest. The shade of his eyes rivaled a glacial lake. His perfectly trimmed beard looked good enough to brush your fingers through. So did his shoulder length hair. Veins popped out of his forearms, his left arm covered in tattoos from what you could see. He was stunningly gorgeous. 

You didn’t know the cabin of your dreams came with a perfect man. 

“Hi,” you said, your voice higher than you intended. 

You weren't trying to stare. You really weren't. But how was there such a gorgeous specimen standing right in front of you? He wasn't just a man. He was a man. The things you’d let him do to you just from his stare alone. 

Wait, what was he doing here?

“Um, hi,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck with an awkward smile. Even his voice was sexy. You were a goner. “Are you lost?”

“I.. I don't think so. I-I’m staying here for the week," you answered, taking your phone out to double check. “Maple Creek Cabin 7. October 29th through November 4th.”

You knew you got the date right. God, what if you had the wrong cabin? No, that didn't make sense. You found the key right where Natasha said it would be. 

The confused look on his face was adorable. “I’m staying here for the week. Maple Creek Cabin 7. October 29th through November 4th,” he gently argued, your stomach sinking when he checked his phone, too. “Booked it through my friend about a month ago.”

“Does that friend happen to be Natasha?” you asked, not saying her full name in case the guy wasn't telling the truth. 

He nodded slowly. “Romanoff?”

You nodded in return. No way could he pull that name out of thin air. “That’s her. I booked it through her, too.”

A long silence hung in the air as you stared at each other, broken only by the crackling fire from the fireplace. “She double booked us,” he said with a hint of resignation, tapping his screen a couple of times. “Great.”

You shifted when Natasha’s voice rang out from his phone seconds later. “Barnes, aren't you supposed to be enjoying some peace and quiet?”

Barnes? That name sounded familiar. Natasha had mentioned it in passing. What did she say about him?

“You double booked your cabin,” he said, not accusatory. He almost sounded amused. Almost. 

“Hey, Nat,” you called out. 

“Oh, hi. Glad you made it safely,” she said warmly. “Did I do that? Well, I have been meaning to introduce you two to each other, but I didn’t mean to double book the place. Must’ve gotten my weeks mixed up.”

You frowned. She was usually so meticulous. She didn't sound at all surprised either that both of you were there at the same time.

“Got your weeks mixed up, huh?” he asked.

“Sure did,” she replied. 

“Bullshit,” he mouthed to you, making you smother a giggle. “That doesn't sound like you.”

“These things happen, even to the best of us.”

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously, even though she couldn't see you. “You told me the key was under the flower pot,” you reminded her. Surely he wouldn't have unlocked the door and put the key back. 

“I did,” she confirmed. 

“And you told me the key was under the small boulder,” he said, shaking his head. “So, you knew we were both coming.”

“Barnes, I told you about the key under the boulder because it’s a bit heavier and you like lifting things,” she said, not confirming nor denying that she knew you’d both be there. “You think I’d purposely give you each a different place to locate a key?”

“Yes,” you said at the same time. Natasha was very good at playing whatever angle she wanted to play. 

“Look, since you’re both there, you might as well make the most of it,” she said. You could picture the smirk on her face. “You both need a break. And some peace.”

The man looked at you with an unreadable expression. Was he tired like you? Overworked? Lonely?

“I gotta go. Sorry about the double booking,” your friend said, not sounding at all apologetic. “Enjoy your time.”

She hung up before either of you could say anything else, the silence starting to stretch again. “So, she did this on purpose, right?” you finally half-teased. 

He scoffed, his cheek twitching. “Yeah, I think she did.”

But why? You didn't know this guy, and he didn't know you. She must’ve thought you’d get along at least, otherwise she would've urged both of you to go. 

“Well, you were here first. I can always come back another time,” you said, giving him a small smile. 

It was a shame. You were looking forward to it. You still had a week off. There were other things that could fill the time. 

“Wait.” He took a few steps closer. “I’m not making you drive all the way back from... wherever you came from. And I don’t really want to leave either.”

“Are you... suggesting we share the place?” you asked. He didn’t mind?

He shrugged. “Well, she suggested it. I’m just agreeing,” he said, making you smile a little. “The couch is a pull-out, so I can sleep there while you take the bedroom.”

There was only one bed. Wasn’t that how some romance stories began? But your life wasn’t a story, was it?

“I won’t bother you or get in your way,” he added when you hesitated. 

“I don’t think you’d be a bother,” you promised. Far from it. The truth was, he was a stranger. A handsome one, but still a stranger. 

But Natasha wouldn’t steer you wrong. 

That made him smile a little. “But?”

You bit the inside of your cheek. You were the one who didn’t want to be a bother. “I don’t even know your name. I mean, besides Barnes,” you said instead. 

His smile widened. “I’m Bucky. Bucky Barnes.”

You smiled back and gave him your name. “Nice to meet you.”

“You, too.” He rubbed the back of his neck again, glancing toward the kitchen. “I was… just about to make something to eat. If you’re hungry, you’re welcome to join me.”

You found yourself nodding before you could stop yourself, a giddy feeling spreading from the fact that he wanted to spend time with you. “Sure. Thanks. I’ll just set my bag in the bedroom,” you said, trying to sound casual. 

He nodded, his eyes on you as you picked up your bag and carried it to the bedroom. You were proud your legs didn't give out, and your heart thudded a little harder and faster than it should have. “This is fine. Just fine. Just a week in a cabin with the most gorgeous man alive,” you muttered. 

How were you going to survive?

You groaned quietly and looked around. The bedroom was just as cozy as the rest of the cabin with warm wood paneling, a thick quilt at the foot of the bed, and a small window that looked out onto the trees. A pang of guilt hit you when you saw a small, dark bag near the dresser. He offered the room up to you so easily, like it was nothing, even though he showed up first. Was it right for you to take it?

You stepped closer to the dresser and opened the top drawer, spotting socks and underwear. He’d already started settling in. Maybe he even imagined a quiet week of solitude here, just like you had. And now you were there disrupting it. 

You took a breath and headed toward the kitchen. Bucky was already there, sleeves rolled up, rummaging through the cupboard like he owned the place. He looked perfectly at ease. 

“Hey,” you said softly. 

“Hey,” he said, glancing at you with a small smile. “Grilled cheese and tomato soup okay?”

“Better than okay,” you replied, stepping closer. It was a nice comfort meal. “Can I help out at all?”

His eyebrows shot up before he nodded to the loaf of bread. From what you saw, Natasha wasn't lying when she said she stocked up the place. “You mind buttering the bread?”

“Not at all.”

The kitchen was cozy, but on the smaller side. At least it felt small as you moved through it. You brushed past him to get the butter and had to brush by again to get a knife. He shifted slightly to give you space, but his presence lingered. 

Did he have any idea how handsome he was? How good he smelled? It was insane. 

“So,” you said, trying not to stare. “Do you cook often?”

You almost winced. It was a lame question to ask. You were curious, but you also just wanted to hear him talk. 

He shrugged, getting a pot and pan out. “Nothing too fancy since I’m usually just cooking for myself,” he answered. You understood that. “I like simple stuff. Quiet meals.”

You nodded, spreading the butter across the bread. “Me, too,” you said, smiling to yourself. “Though I almost burned my dinner the other night because I kept telling myself I was only sending one more work email, which turned into ten more.”

He chuckled gently, the sound warm enough to spread heat from your chest. “A multitasking hazard. I get it.”

Silence followed, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. You watched him pour the soup into the pot, his hand steady. He wasn't a chatterbox, but he didn't seem completely closed off either.  

“Are you sure you don’t want the bedroom? You were here first,” you said, leaving out that he had already begun to unpack. 

He shook his head. “I’m good with the couch. Really.”

You bit your lip and you swore he stared. “Are you sure?”

He smiled softly. “I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t.”

You nodded slowly. “Okay,” you said, your heart fluttering. “Thank you,” you added, wondering if you could somehow make it up to him. 

“Nothing to thank me for.” He turned his attention back to the stove. “Plus I didn't mind sleeping near a fire.”

“That does sound nice,” you said. 

The two of you didn’t say much after that, quietly cooking the simple meal, the sizzling sound of the butter melting into the bread filling the air. It was strange, but it almost felt natural. Would it be like that all week?

“I don’t think Nat mentioned how you two know each other,” he said, surprising you. 

“Oh. I was a waitress at the Red Room, and she worked there, too. Do you know the Red Room?” you asked. He nodded a little. You were glad to be out of there. “She left and started working at SHIELD, but we kept in touch. I work for SHIELD now, too.” 

He stared at you for a beat. “You work for SHIELD?”

“Yeah. Behavioral Strategy. Mostly internal dynamics, conflict resolution, team cohesion. That sort of thing.” You frowned when he chuckled. “What?”

“I work for SHIELD, too,” he said, your mouth falling open. “Tactical Development. Mostly field logistics and security protocols.”

“Wait, we both work for SHIELD?” you asked, shaking your head. “Small world.”

It only slightly surprised you that you hadn’t crossed paths yet. It was a large company with multiple divisions, lots of moving pieces. There were times it felt siloed, everyone existing within their teams and nowhere else. 

You snapped your fingers when you suddenly remembered exactly what Natasha said. “Barnes! Nat mentioned your name when a group of you had to go overseas.”

“All good things, I hope,” he teased, winking at you.

That little wink would play on repeat in your head later. You just knew it. “She said you’re smart, loyal, and good at protecting people, even when it costs you. And that…”

He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t push. 

Your heart thudded. “That you’re tired, but still keep your head up,” you said before adding in a whisper, “That you're a good man, even when you doubt yourself.”

It felt like you said too much. You just met the guy. But you knew some of the work with SHIELD could be extremely dangerous, sometimes haunting. And he didn't look at all uncomfortable or put off by what you said.

“I am a little tired.” His expression shifted, something soft in his eyes. “I feel like my memory isn’t so great some days, but I remember her talking about you, too. Said you were a smart, hard worker with a good heart.”

“She said that?” you asked, your voice small. Natasha didn’t throw out compliments without meaning it. 

He nodded. “She also said you were tired, but you still find reasons to smile.”

“Oh.” You busied yourself by getting bowls and plates. “Well, our team has been short-staffed for months, and I’m-”

“Overworked?” he guessed, his fingers brushing yours when he took a plate from your hands to put the sandwich on, a jolt of electricity flowing up your arm. 

“Yeah,” you said, wondering if you looked as tired as you felt. “But we have to get the job done. And we have a couple of new teammates, so things should even out.”

Bucky handed you the plate back, his fingers lingering enough to make your breath catch. He didn’t pull away immediately and neither did you. The moment stretched, something warm and electric crackling between you. 

“I know what it feels like,” he said, his voice low and quiet. “Being the one people rely on, even when you’re running on fumes.”

You swallowed. “It’s hard to say no when you care,” you said. And you did care. You cared about your team and their well-being. 

He tilted his head, studying you. “That’s what Nat said. That you care too much sometimes, but you never let it make you bitter. She really admires you.”

You blinked, the words hitting you harder than expected. “She said that, too?”

“She did,” he whispered. 

You didn’t know what to say to that. Some days it did seem like you cared too much. You tried to take care of everyone. But at the end of the day there was no one to take care of you. You had to take care of yourself. 

You smiled, soft and a little sad. “She’s really good at reading people, and one of the strongest people I know.”

“You seem strong, too.”

You giggled, unable to stop yourself. You didn’t feel strong most days. “You don’t even know me.”

“Nat vouches for you, which is enough, but I have a good feeling about you,” he said, the corner of his lip twitching as something passed between you. “Here, let me get your bowl for you. It’s hot.”

“Thanks,” you exhaled, taking his plate in return. 

You both carried the food to the small table near a large window, the glow from the fire casting flickering shadows along the walls. The trees swayed gently in the breeze outside, and you took a moment to appreciate the view. Your attention turned back to Bucky when he sat across from you, his posture relaxed yet attentive. 

“I hope it’s edible,” he joked. 

“I’m sure it is,” you smiled, his gaze on you as you took a bite. It had the perfect crunch from the bread, the cheese melted just right. “Mmm. This is really good.”

He relaxed more in his seat. “I’m sure it was your buttering skills that did it.”

Your cheeks got hot as he took a large bite, your gaze fixated on his mouth. You really had to stop staring at him. Creeping him out wasn’t on your list of things to do this week.

“So,” he began, dipping his sandwich in the soup. “Any big plans for the week?”

You shook your head. “Not really. I brought a couple of books, and I thought I’d read by the fire. Maybe take a walk if the weather’s nice enough.”

“That was my plan, too.”

“Really?”

He smiled at your expression. “Really. I don’t always get a lot of quiet, so I figured I’d take advantage of it while I can. I may try to sleep in a little if I can, too. Chop some wood for some exercise besides walking.”

You could think of an exercise or two to help him with. “That sounds really nice.”

He glanced at you, something thoughtful in his eyes. “I probably should’ve asked from the start, but your boyfriend won’t mind you staying with another man, will he?”

You almost dropped your sandwich. “Oh. No. No. I-I don’t have a boyfriend. I’m single.”

“Sorry,” he said, smiling sheepishly. “I just assumed.”

Your head dipped, but you were smiling. “What about you?” you asked, lifting your head to meet his gaze.

He tapped a finger on the table. “I’m, uh, I’m single, too,” he said. It shocked you, but hope flickered within you. “It’s funny, Nat keeps trying to set my friend Steve up on blind dates. She won’t do that with me.”

“Why not?” you asked curiously.

He shrugged and took another bite. “Blind dates just feel a little forced.”

You weren’t about to point out the irony of the forced proximity Natasha set up. “I get that. The last date I went on the guy ate half of my food and said it was to help me maintain my figure.”

A flash of anger flickered across his face. “Bastard,” he growled, clearing his throat. “Sorry. That’s just… No, I’m not sorry for saying that. He sounds like a bastard.”

You smiled. It was sweet that he felt defensive of you. “It’s okay. I didn’t see him again, but Nat did threaten to ruin his reputation.”

He scoffed. “She said something similar when my last date ghosted me.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Someone ghosted you?” you asked. You couldn’t believe it.

“Heard through the grapevine that I was too quiet. Boring.”

“Can I call her a bastard, too?” you teased, your heart swelling when he chuckled. “Well, you don’t strike me as boring.”

He smirked. “You don’t even know me,” he said, echoing what you said earlier. 

“Nat vouches for you, which is enough, but I have a good feeling about you,” you replied, echoing his words again. “And nothing wrong with being quiet. I think the quiet can be comforting.”

He didn’t just look into your eyes. He seemed to look right through you. “I do, too.”

Neither of you rushed through the rest of the meal, enjoying the quiet that both of you sought out. It was as if you had a hundred meals like this together before. You stood up once you were finished to clean the dishes and he helped you without prompt, moving around the small kitchen with you in an easy rhythm. 

Eventually you both made your way to the living room once you each had your books, you picking a spot on the couch and him in the oversized chair. Each of you had a blanket, though you noticed he gave you the thicker one to keep you warmer. You glanced at him occasionally, and you felt him look at you in return. 

You weren’t sure how much time had passed, but your eyes began to feel heavy and you yawned. “I think I’m going to call it a night,” you said, stretching as you stood. “Do you need help setting up the couch?”

He looked up from his book, his eyes soft and bright, the fire glowing in them. “I’ll take care of it,” he said, standing up, too. 

“Okay,” you said, folding the blanket and setting it on the table. You gazed at him, your smile soft. “Thanks again for dinner. And the room.”

“Nothing to thank me for,” he said, tucking some of his hair back. “Sleep well.”

“You, too,” you whispered.

You looked back for just a second when you walked away, your heart racing when you saw him looking at you, too. A smile touched his lips before you turned away, your heart still racing when you slipped into the bedroom. You settled into your nighttime routine, but your mind was occupied with Bucky. 

A man who, like you, worked for SHIELD. One who liked the quiet and books. Single. Tired. A good man from what Natasha said. Wouldn’t set him up on blind dates, but encouraged him to stay there for a week with you. Which was essentially a weeklong blind date. 

“What are you up to, Nat?” you asked yourself once you settled into bed.

And what would you and Bucky get up to tomorrow?

So, what do we think so far? How many days in before you two kiss? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

You look up at the stewardess as she emphasizes her self-pitying words with her hands on her hips. You’re starting to feel the same in the winters though she has some more behind her than you. You’ve enough to dread the coming of the next.

“Is it an ague?” You ask as you dump three more potatoes in the basket.

“She cannot lift herself from over a pale. He innards are keen to be away from her,” Griselda scoffs. “Only for the day.”

“Yes, I will see to the chambers.” You assure her.

“Barton can tend to the potatoes. His stew after all. The last I dropped a crooked lookin’ spud in and he swatted me with that big spoon of his.” She scoffs. “Damn stubborn man.”

You smile. She loves her husband but you wouldn’t know it by her words. She is fortunate to have him and have him close.

“Warm some stones for the lord’s return. There’s a hock on the spit already. Spread some fresh rushes. He does prefer the curtains closed.” She girds. “Oh, and light some new tapers.”

“Yes, Griselda.”

“I don’t mean to coddle,” she shakes her head. “It’s only Mallory. She can be… forgetful.”

“She’s young.” You shrug as you wipe your hands on your apron and step out from behind the table.

“Ah, it will go quick for her as it did for us,” she chirps.

Us? Well, you suppose you are closer to Griselda than the fair Mallory.

You flit past Griselda as she calls for her husband, the cook, only to stop and chide a young ward pulling feathers from a hen. She does not like how he twists the wing as he does. “You’ll mangle it so it’ll only be good for gravy.”

When you finish, you’ll be sure to check on Mallory. As late, she’s been rather homesick. She speaks of her parents and her many sisters. You don’t mind listening. You haven’t many to miss. Your mother died at your birth and your father some years ago. Not long after your husband.

You pass Clovis, one of the riders that went out with Lord Everett. He must’ve been the one who sent word. His eyes narrow on you.

“Eh, bring us some ale. Mulled and warm. It’s cold.” He demands.

“Sir, I must see to the Lord’s return. I could fetch another–”

“Oh cow’s dung,” he waves you off rudely. “Where’s the young’un. The one with the cute nose?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. You don’t expect he truly wanted or expected one. Only to make you know of your worth to him.

You press on, winding up the tower stairs and departing upon the second storey. You slow as you approach the lord’s door. You knock out of courtesy and wait.

It is dark as you enter. That is your first task. Some light. You check the tapers and run to retrieve some to replace the more stubby lengths of wax. You light them with flint, fingers tinged by the effort.

Then the hearth. You kneel, your knees protesting the act, and arrange the logs in the stone inset. You are precise in the cluster of kindling and light the fire without much effort. The time spent lessens the frustrations.

You brace the stone frame and stand. The lord will need more logs to feed it through the night. You turn and consider the chamber, taking a moment to measure what’s left to you. You’ve never been in the lord’s chambers; you’ve passed by but it was always Mallory or Griselda, or one of the young male wards.

You go to fetch the logs. Three trips to ensure a full basket. The nights grow frosty and frigid. You put stones on the rack above the flames to warm. Set under the blankets, they’ll keep the lord warm as well.

You sweep away the old rushes and scatter new ones. The scent tickles your nose. It must have been a weary road. More than a fortnight away. You heard whispers it was to see the king but you know gossip is often akin to fantasy.

There’s a furor in the courtyard. The gates grind open on the turn of the large gears. Men holler, horse hooves pound, and bodies stir. You focus on your task. Nearly done.

You go back to the kitchens and barter some boiling water. You fill a basin and carry it cautiously through the corridors, clothes between your hand and the hot metal. You take each step with intent, the steam raising a sheen of steam on your face.

You ascend the stairs and continue down the corridor. As you approach the lord’s chambers, you tense. You thought you closed the door when you left to keep the warmth in. You wouldn’t be so careless, would you?

You go to step through the open door only for it to swing and hit the basin in your hand. You cry out at the boiling water splashes up your neck and soaks your apron and gown. The bowl clatters at your feet as the rest of the water pools at your feet.

The door opens inward as you step back and tug at the searing wool. You stop as your eyes flick up to meet icy blue of Lord Everett’s. Your breath rushes from your chest. You’ve never seen him closely. Only in passing. Always fleet of foot, eyes set, unseeing of all by his mission.

“My Lord,” you bow as you shake, skin alight from the boiling spill. His irises cling in your vision. They add to the heat of the calamity. “Apologies, I didn’t– I’ll fetch a mop and a new basin.”

He doesn’t say anything. You back up slowly, keeping your head down. You sidle away then turn. You hurry off, tugging at your soaked dress as you enter the staircase. It hurts terribly. It feels as if the wool has melded to your skin.

Never mind it then. You will tend to it as you can. You find a mop and bucket and return. Your legs are quivering from the up and down.

You drag the mop around the puddle outside the open door. You sop it up and twist it into the bucket. As you do, a shadow appears again. Lord Everett scowls from the door.

“I’ll be quick, my lord. Many apologies.”

“The water,” he grits.

“I’ll bring fresh water, my lord.”