Free The Perfect Stranger by Anne Gracíe

anything.
    “V-very well.” Faith took the knife and braced herself. She raised her hand, screwed up her face, and brought the knife down.
    “No!” Stevens grabbed her hand.
    She stared at him in surprise. “What?”
    He gave her an incredulous look. Slowly his face dissolved into a mass of crinkles. And then he started to laugh.
    “What is it? What did I do wrong?”
    Still chuckling, he removed the knife from her grasp, and killed the fish in one quick movement.
    Faith watched with a mixture of revulsion and relief. “I thought I was supposed to—”
    He interrupted her gently. “Yes, miss, but the thing is, it’s not a good idea to stab the fish—stab anything, really—with your eyes closed.”
    She gave him a sheepish look. “I couldn’t bear to watch.”
    He laughed again. “Come along then. I’ll gut and clean it for you. But watch how I do it so you know how, if you ever need to, all right?”
    She thanked him humbly and received her lesson in gutting and scaling with a minimum of squirming. “And if you need any sewing or darning done, Stevens, I’ll do it for you in exchange.”
    He cocked his head and considered. “Depends, miss. Do you sew with your eyes closed, too?”
    She said primly, “I’ll have you know, sir, I am accounted a very neat hand with a needle.
    He laughed. “You’ll do, miss, you’ll do. Now, you keep a’fishing and I’ll kill ’em and clean anything you catch. You’ll probably never need to do it yourself anyway, now you’re marrying Mr. Nicholas, but—”
    “Marrying Mr. Nicholas? I’m not. I’m sure he didn’t mean it. He couldn’t.”
    “Never says nothing he don’t mean, Mr. Nicholas.”
    “Well, I’m not marrying him! The very idea is ludicrous.”
    He stopped scraping at fish scales and gave her a long, skeptical look from under his beetling brows. “You don’t look daft to me, miss. Why wouldn’t you wed him? He’s the finest man I’ve ever known—and I’ve known ’im all his life.”
    “Perhaps, but I’ve only known him a few hours.”
    He gave her another look and sniffed. “Mighty picky, aren’t you? For a lone female what’s been sleeping rough in a foreign country.”
    Faith flushed. “Just because I—I am in temporary difficulties, doesn’t mean I should be rushed into marriage with a stranger.”
    He sniffed again and resumed scaling the fish. He looked offended, so she said, “Look, I’ve already made a dreadful mess of things with my inability to judge a man. I don’t mean to insult your master, but I don’t wish to jump from the frying pan into the fire.” She recalled a grievance. “Even if that’s where he put my boots!”
    “Lor’, miss! Mr. Nicholas isn’t no fire! He’s a good man—one o’ the best! If I was you, I’d be jumping with both feet and hanging on tight to him!” He swished the cleaned fish in the sea, tossed it into the bucket, sat back on his heels, and stared at her. “I don’t understand your hesitation, so help me, I don’t! He’s offered you a free ticket. You don’t have to do nothing—he’d be the one what’s giving you everything!”
    Faith bit her lip. “That’s the problem,” she admitted. “Even if he meant it—which I cannot believe—I couldn’t accept such an unfair bargain. There’d be nothing in it for him that I can see—nothing!” She waited for him to contradict her, to offer her a fresh insight into Mr. Blacklock’s extraordinary offer, but Stevens just cast a new line and thrust the fishing rod into her hand again.
    “Don’t fret on it, miss. Just keep on fishing. Good opportunity for thinking things out, fishing—as well as fillin’ the pot.”
    Faith fished. And thought. And fished some more. Stevens was right. It was a good way to think. But sometimes thinking did no good. No good at all. Her thoughts veered all over the place.
    Their business in town concluded, Nick and Mac walked back to the campsite. Mac adjusted the bulging string bags he was