Grant did not move toward her.
He wanted to.
Every instinct in him wanted to cross the table, pull her against his chest, and promise something enormous he had no right to promise on their first night.
Instead he stayed where he was.
“You don't have to explain tonight.”
Eliza nodded.
Samuel quietly pushed the butter dish toward her.
She looked at him.
“You didn't use any.”
He said.
Eliza laughed through tears.
The sound was tiny.
But real.
She put butter on the biscuit.
Grant watched.
Not obviously.
He hoped.
That night, Eliza stood alone in the bedroom she was supposed to share with a man she barely knew.
The room was simple.
Large bed.
Washstand.
Wardrobe.
One window facing the western pasture.
Grant had placed fresh flowers in a jar beside the bed.
Wild asters.
Half wilted because late autumn had nearly killed everything worth picking.
She touched them.
That nearly made her cry again.
Ridiculous.
Flowers.
Food.
A third chair.
None of these things should have felt dangerous.
A knock came.
Eliza turned.
“Yes?”
Grant remained outside.
“Can I come in?”
She stared at the door.
Her husband asking permission to enter his own bedroom.
“Of course.”
Grant stepped inside.
He had changed into a clean shirt.
No vest.
Hair still damp from washing.
Without the ranch coat and hat, he looked less intimidating.
Not harmless.
Never harmless.
But human.
He closed the door halfway.
Not completely.
Eliza noticed.
“You don't have to leave it open.”
Grant looked back.
“I didn't know what you'd prefer.”
The question settled strangely inside her.
“I don't know either.”
“Fair.”
He leaned against the dresser.
“Samuel's asleep.”
“Already?”
“He can sleep through cattle coming through a wall.”
Eliza smiled.
Grant watched her.
“You all right?”
“Yes.”
He gave her a look.
She sighed.
“I don't know.”
“Better answer.”
Eliza folded her arms.
“You make honesty inconvenient.”
“I’ve been accused.”
She studied him.
“Are you angry?”
“About supper?”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
Eliza's body tightened.
Grant saw immediately.
“Not with you.”
She looked away.
He continued.
“I need you to believe that eventually.”
“Eventually?”
“I don't expect tonight.”
That was somehow worse.
Kindness she could distrust.
Patience frightened her.
It suggested permanence.
Grant stepped closer.
Slowly.
“May I ask you something?”
“Yes.”
“Were you hungry?”
Eliza's face burned.
She almost lied.
Then remembered the third chair.
“Yes.”
“How hungry?”
Her eyes sharpened.
“That seems unnecessary.”
“It might be.”
“Then why ask?”
Grant considered.
“Because I want to understand whether you didn't make a plate because you're accustomed to eating later, or because someone taught you not to eat unless invited.”
Her breathing changed.
He had come too close.