Her head jerked up. His brows were furrowed above his rich brown eyes made even richer by his long lashes. What was he saying? That he didn’t plan to spend the whole night with her?

As if sensing her confusion, he focused on the match stub he’d left on the table and began to twist it. “I figured you and Astrid might want to use the bed.”

“That’s nice of you.” She hoped her voice didn’t squeak through her tight throat. “But I can make a bed for Astrid. Maybe a trundle I can pull out for her at night.”

He flipped the match around and between his fingers. “Listen, Miss Nil—” He stopped himself.

She squirmed. It would be so much easier if they could simply do their marriage duty without having to talk about it.

“Greta,” he said slowly and softly, as though trying out her name. “I ain’t a brute. And I wouldn’t feel right about—well, sharing a bed with you. Not until we’ve gotten to know each other better.”

His declaration took her by surprise, so much so that for a moment she was speechless. What was he saying? Didn’t he want to consummate their marriage yet?

“This is all mighty sudden.” He wound the match through his fingers faster. “Shouldn’t we make sure this is gonna work—well, before we make it official?”

Did he want to test her out first? See if she was hardworking enough before he decided if he wanted to keep her? Was there the chance he might not like her and kick her and Astrid out?

Her nerves tightened. “I promise I’ll do my best. I’ve been told I’m easy to get along with.”

“That ain’t it,” he said in a rush. “I can tell you’re a real nice woman and all.”

“Then you’re afraid you might get tired of Astrid?” That was understandable. Not even her family had been able to cope with the demands of Astrid’s illness.

“Nope. She can talk a donkey’s hind leg off. But she’s a sweet girl, and I’m sure we’ll get along just fine.”

“But . . .”

His fingers pressed hard against the match, snapping it in two. “I don’t want you to be stuck here if this ain’t what you wanted.”

Or maybe he didn’t want to be stuck with her, if she ended up not being what he wanted.

He released a breath that was full of frustration. “Always figured I’d marry a woman I knew and liked. But since that didn’t happen, I’m fixin’ to wait—you know—until we get to liking each other.”

Get to liking each other. “What if that doesn’t happen?” The question popped out before she could stop it.

He fiddled with the two pieces of the broken match.

“It doesn’t matter—”