Odd jobs. Nothing I stuck with long. What happened to your wife? She asked, her voice calm but direct. He paused mid-stitch, his hand stilling.
Fire, he said, his voice flat. Three winters ago, stove tipped while I was out fixing a fence. I got back too late. He didn't lift his eyes. He didn't say more.
Tala sat quiet for a while after that. The silence that followed didn't feel cold. It felt like something understood. A shared language of loss. Later that day, Josiah brought in a second chair and placed it beside hers at the table.
"You going to sit with me now?" she asked, one eyebrow raised. He gave the faintest nod. Seemed right. They ate together for the first time that night, not across the table from each other, but side by side, the lamp casting soft shadows across the room. After supper, she asked him to bring her outside.
He hesitated. Don't want folks seeing, he said. There's no one out there, she replied. And I need the wind. He picked her up gently, carried her out onto the porch, and set her down on a wide bench he had padded with blankets.
The sky above was stre with the fiery oranges and purples of the setting sun. She closed her eyes, breathing in the cool evening air. She shifted after a while, her shoulder brushing his arm. It was not accidental. You ever touch a woman like this?
She asked, her voice a low, quiet murmur. He didn't move. Like what? Not out of duty. Not out of pity.
Just touch. He turned his head slowly, his eyes searching hers in the fading light. She didn't flinch. Her shirt hung open slightly at the collar, her collarbones bare, the line of her chest soft and steady. I'm not broken, she said, her voice a fierce whisper.
"Don't look at me like I'm a ghost." "I don't," he answered, his voice rough. Her hand slid across the bench and found his. She placed his palm low against her hip, against the curve of what remained of her thigh. The flesh warm, scarred, but smooth. His fingers twitched, but he didn't pull away.
I can't feel it like before, she said, but I still want it. His breath deepened. She leaned toward him slowly, her lips brushing his cheek, then lower until her mouth found his. She kissed him, not with desperation, not with speed, but with a slow, deliberate tenderness, a kiss that spoke of a deep, abiding need for connection. He kissed her back.