Blythe put the mustard on the table and Keir began to laugh before she had taken her hand away.
“It belongs to us,” she said. “I paid for it.”
“An important development.”
“I even kept the receipt, though apparently you intend to question my character for the rest of our lives.”
He stopped laughing just long enough to look at her.
“That sounds like a considerable commitment.”
“I thought you ought to know the terms.”
“I accept.”
She went around the table and kissed him, which delayed breakfast and earned no complaint.
Winter had begun to put a white edge on the garden stones. The smaller blue bed was banked now, its colour allowed to go after Blythe decided she preferred to spend the dark mornings on new glass. She had kept the rose bells active in their own ring and the new amber flower on the kitchen sill, where…
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