Page 209 of The Sinner's Bargain

SIX YEARS LATER...

Tiny, six-year-old fingers crept up the side of the dessert table. Each one stretched and strained against the royal blue tablecloth for the plate of cupcakes with the swirl of buttercream frosting. Her tiny, red slippers teetered as high as they would go on tiptoes.

Adamant and stubborn, she was ever her father’s daughter, right down to the wild tangle of black curls and amber eyes. But she had my nose and lips, and my fear of the dark. Though Thoran assured me she would outgrow hers.

She was the embodiment of our love in a four-foot package.

I excused myself from a cluster of women from the village to catch my daughter red-handed having pilfered her treat.

“What do you think you’re doing, missy?”

Big, amber eyes popped up to me. Icing already smeared her tiny chin and coated her fingers. She was as red-handed as one could get.

I glanced over at the sea of people loitering all across the grounds, enjoying the beautiful summer afternoon and Abigal’s birthday. Kids ran wild through the games and their parents’ legs and their laughter filled the space, tangling with the chatter from the adults.

I liked that no one was afraid of the monster who lived in the house by the swamps, but I already missed the silence and only two hours had passed. I knew the parties were a nightmare for Cyrus, and Thoran agreed to them reluctantly, but Abby needed the socializing. She needed to see what people were like and how to communicate with them. She needed friends, even though she was far more like Thoran and me than I liked and enjoyed her solitude.

I turned back to peer down into my daughter’s beautiful eyes and grinned. I put a finger to my lips and snatched up two muffins with pink frosting. Abby beamed and took the free hand I offered her. The yellow frosting on her hand smeared across mine as we walked away from the guests to our favorite spot — Grandma’s roses.

The garden was gone. Torn to the ground years ago before Abby was even born. Thoran demolished the walls and filled the well. It was just the roses now in the center of a beautiful gazebo tucked out of view behind a neat wall of bushes. I never did hear that man again, nor felt the ominous presence following me. Since being destroyed and rebuilt, everything about it felt warm and welcoming. It was the one place I felt Abby — Thoran’s mother’s — presence the strongest and so did little Abby. It was her favorite place and we visited often.

“Hey Grandma,” I said, greeting the silver roses. “Hope you don’t mind company.”

“We brought you a cupcake!” Abby declared, taking one of the pink ones from me and placing it under the bush. It toppled over but was quickly righted. The bits of dirt and grass clinging to the frosting ignored.

Abby and I took our spots on the stone bench Thoran built just for us. I had to adjust my weight before lowering myself down. The seven-month bump made sitting, standing, walking, basically existing impossible.

“How are you enjoying your party, Abby?” I asked the little girl already tearing into her cupcake with the gusto of a starved, feral cat.

“Hate it.” She wiped frosting off her face with the back of her hand and squinted up at me. “Why do they have to come to our house?”

I bit the inside of my lip to keep from laughing at the question. “Well, that’s how parties work. They come see you.”

Abby rolled her eyes. “They should stay at their house and just send the presents.”

I did laugh, long and hard.

“There you two are.” As beautiful as the day I first saw him in that very spot, Thoran stepped around the stone walls and stopped when he was at my shoulder. He bent to kiss the top of Abby’s head, then my lips. “Are we hiding?”

Abby nodded immediately. “I can’t people anymore. Sitting with Grandma is better.”

Thoran was biting back his own laughter as he scooped our daughter up and claimed her seat with her on his thigh.

“I agree. Let’s just hide here.”

I lightly swatted his arm. “Stop that. We’re trying to help her socialize.”

Abby looked up at her father. “Am I in trouble? Why am I being punished?”

Thoran snorted a laugh that he tucked behind a cough when I glowered at him. He cleared his throat. “Your mom’s right, Buttons. You need friends.”

“I have friends!” she wailed. “I have Uncle Mal and Cyrus, and Grumpy Uncle Vance. That’s a million people.”

“That’s three people and they don’t count. You need kids your age,” I protested.

“I have Grandma. She talks to me all the time.”

Thoran pressed his lips to her brow. “What do you guys talk about?”

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