[This post is from Marin’s point of view.]
She turned toward the sound of her husband’s voice, blinking back tears she hadn’t realized had pricked her eyes rimming her lashes. Thom paused, his brows knitting, as if he’d noticed them sparkling there in the dim light before she was able to hide them.
“What’s the matter?” he asked in a whisper, limping toward her, leaning heavily on his crutches. “You’re crying.”
“I’m all right,” she said, shaking her head quickly and reaching up to scrub the tears from her eyes with the heel of one hand, the other cradling Lin against her chest. Thom reached to help her, his thumb brushing along her cheek.
“Are you sure? What is it?”
“I was just thinking,” she whispered, stepping a little closer. Thom leaned into her, wrapping one arm around her waist, trapping his crutch beneath one arm. Marin rested her forehead against his shoulder, sighing softly. If the pressure there hurt, he didn’t say anything, instead pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
“About what?” he asked softly. “Talk to me, sweetheart. Whatever you were thinking about was enough to bring tears to your eyes and I’d be lying if I said that didn’t make me worried.”
A sigh escaped her lips and she wrapped her free arm around him, turning her head slightly so her forehead rested against his neck. She could smell the forge on him and he was warm despite the dampness in the air—not entirely from fever, but likely from time spent close to her brother’s kiln, probably in conversation with him. “Tomorrow,” she said simply. The words that were to follow vanished, crumbling in the wake of emotions she felt but couldn’t name.
“Tomorrow,” he echoed. “What, you’ll—wait.” He fell silent and she knew he was thinking, trying to puzzle out what she’d meant. “Tomorrow,” he said again, his voice quieter now. She caught a thread of pain in his voice, pain that went far beyond the physical. “Oh.”
His arm tightened. Marin closed her eyes as Thom buried his nose in her hair.
“I love you,” he whispered. “I always did.”
“I know. I know.”