Page 39 of Cosy & Chill
“It’s… cheerful.” A hint of intrigue now laced Finn’s voice. “There aren’t many ice cream photos. Staged ones, I mean. Like the ones you took of my knitting.”
“That can be remedied. How do you feel about ice cream for lunch?” Buzzing as he often was in Finn’s company, Leo dug through his freezers and set about creating plates and bowls of ice cream to photograph.
As the afternoon drew in they lit the fire, ordered pizza, and drank wine. They listened to music, and they never stopped talking. It felt easy and the most natural thing in the world, and when Leo grew drowsy, Finn finally set his needles aside, stretched out on the sofa and pulled Leo against him.
“You’re so warm,” Leo sighed, shifting to get closer. He spent his days outdoors or scuttling between freezers, while Finn smelled of furniture polish and hot chocolate, and radiated warmth.
They watched the flames while the music wove stories through the room. Finn slid his fingers into Leo’s hair and rubbed gentle circles into his scalp. Leo felt himself grow pliant under the unfamiliar touch. His limbs grew heavy, and his breathing slowed until his eyelids drooped.
An almighty crash jerked him back to wakefulness.
A resentful screech startled him upright.
“Ye fecking bastard child of a misbegotten goat!”
Leo leapt off the sofa. He grabbed the poker from beside the fireplace—it was ornamental, but it had a good heft—and headed for the kitchen.
A woman stood beside the stove holding the cutlery drawer and glaring at what Leo assumed were its contents on the floor. The centre island hid her from view except for a fleece-lined denim jacket, a lock of wine-red hair, and a knitted hat that looked oddly familiar. She didn’t seem to be holding a weapon, but one of her hands was down by her side and Leo didn’t relax his grip on the poker.
The shuffle of slippers on hardwood announced Finn’s arrival, and then came his voice, very calm, from just over Leo’s shoulder.
“You want to tell us who you are and what you’re doing here before we call the police?”
The woman considered them from narrowed green eyes. Eventually, she muttered something under her breath that Leo couldn’t parse. Something to do with copper and gold? “I didn’t get that,” he said and straightened a little bit more.
“Me name’s Roisin,” she said with a touch of Irish in her voice. “I’m a… a historian.”
“And you’re in our kitchen—why exactly?”
Finn’s calm tone was a marvel. In Leo’s blood, adrenaline from confronting a burglar mixed with anger that someone had dared to walk in on his and Finn’s peaceful evening. It left him shaking.
“There’s…” Roisin’s gaze flicked between them before settling on Finn. “Ye won’t believe me.”
“Why don’t you try me before you convince yourself of that?”
“I’m looking for treasure.”
“‘Treasure’?”
She waved her hands. “See? I told ye, ye wouldn’t believe me.”
“What kind of treasure?”
“A Saxon hoard of silver coins.”
“Why would you be looking for a hoard of Saxon coins in our cutlery drawer?” She was right. Leo didn’t believe a word she was saying. He inched around the centre island to get a look at her, hoping to make a dash and disarm her if she was holding anything offensive.
She noticed and raised both hands to shoulder height. “Don’t bother. The only thing I’m armed with is a lock pick.” She pulled off the green hat and her hair spilled past her shoulders in a deep red cascade. “Ye were never meant to see me,” she grumbled. “I just meant to pop in, find the coins, and leave.” She tossed the hat onto the kitchen island and Leo heard Finn’s gasp.
“That’s one of mine.”
Leo reached for the hat and turned it inside out. Sure enough, near the crown was the tiny Cosy Corner label that Finn added to all his finished items.
“You placed an order for that hat three weeks ago,” Finn said. “You sent a photo.”
“Would ye believe me if I said that was a coincidence?”
“No.”
