TWENTY-SIX
Rosa's eyes sparkled with unusual brilliance this morning, like the sun glittering off blue ice. Her cheeks were pink more from cold than any blushing at his fumbling in the dark last night. Perhaps she'd forgotten it.
He wished he could. Even washing in the icy well water hadn't helped.
She finished her breakfast quickly, then headed back outside. She returned with a paddle loaded with two loaves of bread. She dropped these on the table. "Careful, they're hot," she called over her shoulder on her way out. Two more loaves soon joined the first two, whereupon Rosa enveloped one in a cloth and began to cut thick slices from it.
"Now this is what butter was made for," she said, spreading it thickly onto the heel of the loaf. She bit into it before the butter could melt. "Mmm
