𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕

The old wooden structure of the March house creaked and groaned in accordance with the footsteps that danced carelessly across its upper floors. Your cousins were making quite the racket and their voices traveled down the stairway like a string of distant music, making you smile as you stirred the contents of the bowl in front of you.

Aunt Marmee had gone into town to volunteer at the soldier's guild and Hannah was upstate visiting her relatives for the weekend, leaving you alone to provide for your cousins. You didn't want to interrupt the fun they were having in the attic by calling them back to their daily duties, nor did you think they would allow you to do a shred of work if they caught you in the act of baking — which you were more than content with doing on your own, thank you very much.

The fabric-bound copy of Romeo and Juliet was open on the kitchen table in front of you, propped open with a wooden spoon that ran down the middle like a thick bookmark. For a little over an hour now you had been craning your neck to gaze down at the faded black letters printed across the yellowed paper, adjusting the bowl in your hands every so often to flip the page.

While the story was one of your favorites, you couldn't help but let your mind wander back to the boy who lent it to you in the first place. Laurie occupied most of your daydreams now — not that you would ever admit that out loud. His tall, hollowed cheekbones and princely stature made him a prime candidate for how you imagined Romeo to look. It was just a coincidence that you pictured yourself as Juliet as well.

A strong wind braced against the side of the house, making flurries of snow fly up and scatter against the window panes. Out of every other idle joy that the countryside offered you, the winter was decidedly your favorite thus far.

Just as you finished this thought, a second gust of wind tore through the calm meadow outside. It was just as loud and angry as the first, but this time it was half-muted by the sound of the front door being forced inwards and slammed back shut.

You jumped at the unexpected sound and set down your mixing bowl before padding around to the living room. It couldn't have been Marmie home so early, could it?

"Hello?" A warm, honeyed voice called out into the house as Laurie rounded the entryway and locked eyes with you. His polite smile immediately widened as he shed his wet winter coat and red silk scarf.

"Laurie!" You exclaimed, breaking the brief silence and crossing the living room to wrap your arms loosely around his neck. He melted into the embrace and squeezed the spot just above your hip. Then, suddenly remembering that you were covered in flour, you pulled back. "How good to see you! Why have you come?"

According to Meg, who was now very close with Mr. Brooke, Laurie was confined to strict school hours during the day and was forbidden from leaving in the night. His grandfather was hesitant to let him continue his 'lesser gentlemanly' habits like gambling, afraid to lose him as he had already lost his own son.

Laurie looked down bashfully and draped his navy blue jacket over the nearest armchair. "Don't fret on my behalf, doux ange. I've only come to check on your hand." He paused, blinking as if he had just remembered something important. "That is to say if it's alright with you."

"Oh!" you said, eyes widening as you looked down to your palm. Jo had helped you change the bandage before bed, but it stopped hurting much sooner. The look on his face told you that Laurie wasn't going to let you off on your words alone. So instead, you made a loose fist and gestured to the sofa that ran along the back wall. "Y-Yes, of course, it is."

The fire crackled loudly, logs shifting and falling into the ashes within the hearth as Laurie gently took your palm into his lap. His fingers barely grazed against your skin as he worked to unwind the white cloth bandage from your palm. Your gaze traveled back and forth between his hand and his eyes. They were focused and stern, but the fire flickered in the reflective pools as he chewed on his bottom lip.