He froze. His mind balked, and his chest lurched along with it. Where had that thought come from?

As Myrtle returned and set down her latest bounty, Val attempted to regroup his riotous thoughts.

The sole reason he cared was because she was the first person he’d interacted with in years. It had nothing to do with . . . with . . . anything beyond that.

Myrtle held up the knife and then froze with the blade poised over the top. Closing her eyes, she cut into the cake. She proceeded to dish out two pieces, giving the first to him and taking the next one for herself.

They ate in silence.

Silence was something he’d become so very accustomed to over the years.

It was something he was never without.

“You never did say what is wrong with the name Myrtle,” she said quietly.

“No, I didn’t.”

“My brothers got good strong names. Lovely ones. Arran and Dallin and Quillon. My sisters Cassia and Fleur . . . and I was saddled with Myrtle.”

It was an unfortunate one.

“It’s not the prettiest,” he allowed, and the lady was stricken before she dropped an elbow onto the table and turned her attention to her plate, pushing the confectionary treat around the dish.

Val tightened his hand upon his fork, the metal biting into his palm, and he preferred a world in which he’d been incapable of feeling anything, especially not this hurt at causing someone pain. “But it is the most interesting.”

The lady’s head popped up.

And he found, though dusty and rusty and rough, he was capable of some of that charm from long ago.

Apparently he was not as charming as he’d just credited himself.

“It is a fine name,” he finally said.

She stared confusedly at him.

“Myrtle,” he said gruffly. “Your name is fine enough.”

“No, it’s not. It sounds like ‘turtle’ and is a name one would expect of an old spinster with two pugs on bright leashes, with bows in their ears. Garish ones, too. Not even fine, elegant ribbons.”

“Are you always this contrary?”

“I’m always this truthful.” She lifted a forkful of cake, punctuating her point. “There is a difference,” she said, taking a bite. Suddenly, she stopped midchew and froze. “Oh, my goodness,” she said around a mouthful, and then frantically proceeded to swallow.

Myrtle jumped up and raced across the room.

He frowned, following her with his gaze as she fetched another plate. “What is it?”

Ignoring him, she made a beeline for the table. “I am the worst,” she lamented, and heaping the plate with a slice of cake as large as his and hers combined, she jumped up.

Confounded, Val did a sweep, searching for the company.

Myrtle dropped to a knee.

Horace instantly gave his spot up at the hearth and trotted over.

Myrtle tossed her arms around the dog’s thick neck and gave him a hug.