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That gave her pause, and she pursed her lips. She had carried the white pawn in her pocket like a hot coal. She set it on the center square and watched it settle. “You should have asked me first.”

“I should have, but you wouldn’t have accepted my support and my heart in that order,” he said, and did not look away. “I’m asking now, was I right?”

“I hate that you are,” she growled and clicked her tongue. He was three moves ahead of her wit and her heart.

“Then tell me why you asked at all.”

“Because I respect your priorities. The bakery over me, fine. But there’s nothing more that I ever expected to want after I lost my family. I didn’t know what else to do, Rosine. Nobody ever taught me what to do if one loves another person as fiercely as I love you. I have no strategy for this.”

The words landed in parts—sense here, care there—and the whole of them hurt. She had kept her life neat because neatness did not break; he had put a bend in it. “Independence is mine to earn in my life,” she said, lifting her chin. “Not yours to give.”

“I know, but I wanted to give you security before I could give my heart,” he answered softly. That’s why I wanted to let the shop come before me. Then you’ll know I’m not offering a leash. I only helped with the money to speed it up.”

The candle’s glow emphasized the cut of his jaw, the tiny nick his razor had missed, the lips she’d kissed and thought she could finally heal from all the grief in her life. The way he’d gone quiet under her hands—after—told her the kisses had eased some long, private hurt, too. Heat ran through her, quick and unwelcome.

I must not love him so. But I do. She swallowed it back.

“You planned for me,” she said. “Like one of your lines of strategic play.”

“I planned protection for the danger I knew was brewing,” he said. “Not you.”

“Then why not trust me to stand beside you while you did it? Why the secrecy?”

He glanced at the board and back again. “Because I wanted you too much to risk getting it wrong. I’d rather die.”

It was silly and honorable at once, and she hated that both could coexist in her heart. He got it all wrong.

“And the match?”

“I asked for respectability, not a promise,” he said. “So if whispers come that mean we can’t work at the Lyon’s Den any more, they find us in daylight. So you can refuse me and keep your place. I wanted to show you what I am without taking anything from you first.”

Anger did not leave her. It changed shape. Under it lived a sharp, frightened thing—don’t lose him—and she wished it would be still. She stepped closer because distance made her thoughts tidy, and she did not feel tidy. The heat of him soaked up the air between them.

“You bruised my plans,” she said. “I had a straight path. Flour at dawn. Sugar at noon. Sleep in safety. Everything seemed so clear until you took my heart and made me look farther.”

“I know.” His voice roughened, then steadied. “Wait, I did?”

“Yes.”

“Well, if the price of your freedom is me at a distance, I’ll pay it. If it’s me at your side, I want to earn it.”

That admission slid under her ribs and caught there. If she sent him away, he would go cleanly; he would not make trouble. A life with him would become a door she had chosen not to open. That’s not what I want. The thought stole her breath.

“Say everything,” she told him. “No more clever omissions.”

He did. “I did not ask for your yes yet because I don’t feel that I have earned it yet.” He drew a calmer breath. “I can wait for that as long as it takes.”

The room came back into its plain details—the flickering candle leaning almost dangerously to one side, the dried, lopsided puddle of wax, the faint noise from downstairs. Ordinary things. Ordinary was where she knew how to live. In that ordinary, she recognized the risk: if she chose pride alone, she would win her independence and lose him. If she chose him blindly, she might wake one day and not know where she had put herself.

Except, with his investment in her bakery, the lines were not as clean as he’d made them look. She owed him now. Not because he demanded anything in return but because her heart wanted to give him… everything.

“My money is in that lease,” she said. “But so is yours. You never asked if I wanted your help.”

“No,” he said. “I asked myself if I could live with not helping. I could not. Take the lease. Refuse me. Keep both without owing me anything.”

Something inside her loosened and hurt at the same time. “You are infuriating.”

“I know.” His mouth edged as if a smile wanted a place and couldn’t find one. “I’d rather have you choose me in anger than love me in danger.”