“I didn’t.” Jonathan popped a piece of fatty bacon into his mouth.

“You need to eat less of that stuff,” Hæra said with a little frown. “That nurse Sue Kilbright told you not as much salt, didn’t she?”

“That’s funny, coming from the one who puts salt in everything she drinks.”

“It’s not…” Hæra gave a quick glance at Madeleine. “It’s not the same for me, you know that.”

Rather than looking chastened, Jonathan appeared pleased. Every reminder of Hæra’s true nature, spoken in front of Madeleine, seemed to delight him.

The first time they’d all sat down to a meal together, after Hæra had told Madeleine the truth, he’d beamed. His relief had seemed palpable, so intense it was almost joy. Carrying that shared secret must have been nearly as hard on him as it had been on Hæra.

It was worth it to him, though. Jonathan had spoken of his happiness that Hæra had come to him. He’d wasted so many years, he’d said, but now he had a new lease on life, and wasn’t that grand? Anyone could take a page from his book.

Madeleine had known what he was really saying. Start over. Learn what I did. It’s never too late.

They’d see about that. For now, it was all Madeleine could do not to ogle Hæra’s long, lean body every chance she got. That was more than enough to contend with.

Especially after her little slip a few minutes ago.

They had vowed to be friends, and only that. They didn’t talk about where they might be going. Hæra wasn’t one to look to the future, as she admitted herself, and when Madeleine tried to look at the road ahead, it went out of focus.

It was much easier to live day by day, spending time with Hæra and taking moments as they came. Whatever Madeleine was supposed to learn from this would come to her when it was meant to—right?

Breakfast ended, and Madeleine insisted on helping Jonathan clean while Hæra went out to bring the Vauxhall around. “Guests don’t wash up,” he objected as he set the bacon pan to soak.

Madeleine began to wash their coffee cups. “Am I just a guest now?”

She glanced at him. He looked back. Through the window over the sink, the rare morning sunlight landed on his face, turning his white beard whiter. “I dunno what you are,” Jonathan said. “But more than a guest, that’s true. You’re good for her. And I thank your God, or her Mare, or whatever, that you came.”

Madeleine dipped her head. “So do I.”

“It’s been hard, though, hasn’t it?”

His look was full of compassion. Madeleine still found herself unable to answer it beyond saying, “Yes.”

“We should talk,” he said. “You and me.”