The Truth in Scars
The Truth in Scars (excerpt from Renée Gendron's story in The Shopkeeper & Spoon)
His top hat shadowed his eyes, but there was no mistaking
the line of his nose—strong with a little bony knot in the middle. The bent
face of a man who had stood up to every challenge life threw at him and won
without contest.
She flexed her numbed fingers. “What are you
doing?”
“Looking for you.”
Something warm and lovely turned over in the
empty square of her chest.
“Why?”
“Tonight is not a night to be alone on the
street.” He held his hand open, and she gave him the sleigh’s handle. “Where
were you going?”
“To buy the spoons from you.”
“Why do you want the spoons so badly?”
“I like their design.” She played innocent, a spoiled
daughter who had no idea someone swept the floors, cooked dinner, or emptied
chamber pots.
“It’s not a thirty-dollar design or maker. I
could make you another set, higher quality at a better price.”
“That’s not possible,” she mumbled.
“Pardon?”
She cleared her throat to stay her tongue,
though a few other sharp words still waggled on it. “How much?”
“Come by my shop tomorrow, and we can discuss
the price.”
“Nay. It has to be now.”
“Why?”
Across the street, a woman drew open the
curtains, sending a shaft of light onto the street.
The snow shimmered with
thousands of pinpricks of light blues, light-pinks and flashes of gold that
made jewellers jealous.
Amber light bathed half of his face illuminating
a merchant who stood tall and proper, with a jawline that her fingertips begged
to trace. The dark half of his face obscured his past, cast shadows on the
story behind his broken nose, and tried, but failed, to hide the pain in his
eyes.
“I’ve thirty dollars cash.” She swept her hands
over her sleigh. “And I’ve more to barter.”
“Is there
some kind of secret treasure in those spoons?”
**