Page 68 of A Bloom in Winter

“She died in childbirth.” She put her hand on her heart. “Not mine. My infant brother’s, and he went unto the Fade, too. Since then, it’s just been my father and me. Well, I was raised by thedoggen, and my father has always been . . . busy. But it’s been only the two of us.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“I was ten at the time.” Mahrci continued to focus on the winter landscape. “The truth is, it did not affect me as much as you might think. I was raised bydoggennannies before she died. I mean, I was shown to her and my father from time to time, but that was pretty much the extent of it. She was a ghost before she passed, and I say that with no malice, honestly. My nanny was mymahmen, and she is still in my life even though she doesn’t live in my father’s house anymore.”

With obvious resolve, she glanced over at him. “My father is very angry at me. And that’s why . . . I’m begging you to leave as soon as your work here is done.” There was a slight pause. And then she blurted, “Whataboutwhenyouwereayoung?”

He knew there was more to things by the way she rushed her question. But at least if they were talking, she wasn’t disappearing on him.

“I was an orphan, but everything worked out.” Mayhem shrugged. “My parents left me at a Spring Festival as a nine-year-old—”

“Theyleftyou?”

“Mm-hmm.” He wanted to hold her hand, but not because he felt like he needed the support. He just . . . really wanted to touch her. “I ended up being taken in by a baker. He let me sleep at the shop.”

“Oh, that was kind of him.”

“I’m not sure kind was the reason behind it all. He was looking for an extra set of hands, not another son. By taking me in, his real son didn’t have to work and was allowed to go to school.”

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “That must have been hard.”

“Are you kidding me?” He pointed to his chest. “I didn’t want to go to school. I had a roof over my head, and all the bread and pastries I could eat. It was awesome.”

Mahrci frowned as she seemed to study his features for clues as to whether he was hiding pain from her. From himself.

“Really, it was all right,” he said. “What.”

“Ah, you’re telling me you were essentially dumped at the side of the road by your parents—”

“Honestly, I had no more a fucked-up childhood than anybody else does. Like young in so-called normal households have it easy? Just because you’re checking off all the ‘normal’ boxes doesn’t mean that everything is hunky-frickin’-dory.”

And the same was true if you grew up with all kinds of bread at home—and not the loaf stuff, but the green, stacked variety.

“Well, I’m glad you told me—” She cleared her throat as her voice cracked. And then she rubbed her eyes, clearly so no tears fell. “I’m so sorry . . . my emotions are all over the place.”

“Sure they are. That was an intense situation back there in the supermarket, and this conversation—we’re not exactly talking about the weather, are we?”

She nodded in what looked like an absent way. Then she turned to him again.

Unlike the silence on the highway, now the quiet seemed to wrap around them, moving them closer together, even as neither of them changed positions.

“I’m really . . .” Her words trailed off. “Lost right now.”

He reached up and brushed a piece of her hair back. “You’re going to be fine.”

“I don’t think I am.” That gaze drifted down to his mouth. “I’m not . . . okay, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Yes, you do.” His voice deepened, his blood starting to thicken with arousal. “You know exactly what you’re doing. You also know . . . what you want.”

“Do I,” she whispered.

He traced her face with his eyes, lingering on her lips. “And my answer is yes.”

“I didn’t ask a question—”

“You can use me, if you want.”

Mahrci looked away sharply. “That’s wrong.”

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