Whispers wrapped around the walls of their little cottage like ivy. Elias and Charlotte had become skilled at conversation through looks. Her ankle swinging against his as they sat across from one another at the table. His hand on her elbow as she balanced the wash. A trade of laughter over Finn's over-the-top stories.
Then the shed.
They had gone to bring in firewood. Alone. Elias dropped the bundle first. Charlotte turned to say something—what, she would never recall.
Because his mouth was on hers.
The kiss was rough and soft, all at once. Her fists were knotted in his coat. His arms around her waist like armor.
When they broke apart, panting, he breathed, "We should get the wood."
"To hell with the wood," she whispered.
They laughed. It was dangerous, it was wonderful. And it was only the beginning.
They danced.
Not intentionally.
A storm rolled in. The electricity went out. Charlotte lit candles. Elias burst in dripping wet, complaining about faulty roofing.
She teased him. He told her she was insufferable.
And then the rain shifted into music, and the heat from the room enveloped them like a spell.
He took her hand. She held it.
Their movements were awkward at the beginning. But her laughter emboldened him. Her closeness made her daring.
When he kissed her again, it wasn't stolen. It was taken, with hurting slowness.
In the distance, thunder rumbled.
In the room, Charlotte withdrew from the kiss and breathed, "Stay."
He did.