Free It's Always Been You by Victoria Dahl Page A

her finger over the creases to seal them tight. Then she slipped the letter back under the counter and dusted her hands. And now her workday was over, and a sizzle of anticipation traced through her body.
    She slipped the latch and rushed to the back room, her boots raising a happy riot against the wood floor. Purposefully ignoring the kitchen and the two burnt dinner pots that awaited her attention, she grabbed her hooded cloak from a nail on the wall and pushed open the alley door. The air that greeted her when she stepped outside was startlingly crisp.
    Kate paused for just a moment to inhale the delicious coldness, ignoring the various alley odors that lingered about. The warm spell had finally broken, and the weather she’d been waiting for had arrived.
    Rushing down the alley, she eyed the sky above hopefully. Flat gray clouds hung still over her head like great, floating promises. She wound her way through the lanes until she reached the strolling park, then veered away from the ancient willow, choosing a bench on the opposite side of the lawn. There was no sense in reminding herself of Aidan.
    The wind sent brown leaves skittering over the grass as she sat down and gazed across the park. It all thrilled her—the dry sound of the dead leaves, the hard bite of the air, the wind’s cruel caress as it snuck into the folds of her cloak.
    The grocer, Mr. Johansen, had predicted it would snow before sunset. She was ready.
    Sitting as still as the stones that made up the bench beneath her, Kate waited and thought of nothing, refusing to allow even a hint of an idea or memory to form in her mind. She simply closed her eyes and breathed.
    She’d discovered over the course of her time abroad that heat was a fortress, a prison. It oppressed the body and the mind, suffocated the soul. The cold was liberating. She suspected that, if she wished, she could rise up and fly away on a stir of the wind.
    A tiny pinprick struck her cheek. Then another.
    A fan of bittersweet euphoria swept through her body. Eyes still closed, she turned her face up to the sky and felt a dozen more snowflakes land on her skin. Her mouth stretched into a wide, unfettered grin and a sobbing laugh escaped her.
    Seconds later, her face now wet with melted snow, she opened her eyes to see flakes floating, dancing, blowing through the air. A weight lifted from her heart at the sight. It was silly, she knew. She’d been back in England for months now, but for the first time, she felt she’d returned.
    She’d wondered sometimes, particularly since Aidan’s departure, whether she really belonged in England. She felt so changed, so foreign. It had even occurred to her that she’d died on that island and this was some sort of death dream. But sitting here in the cold, watching the dim light of the hidden sun grow dimmer, she knew she was home. A few hot tears mixed with the dampness on her cold cheeks as darkness finally fell over the park.
    She should go. She was looking forward to lighting a fire in the stove and working on her mending, just enjoying her small parlor with its yellowing walls and ragged furniture. She’d received some excellent Madeira in trade and planned to have a glass to help warm her before she retired to her bed, a bed the perfect size for her and her alone. But for now, she was content to sit here, to shiver and breathe.
    Time stretched by, her nose began to numb. Taking a deep breath, she drew in the cold and looked slowly around, memorizing the sight of the light silver veil of falling snow, setting it carefully in her mind before rising to start her stroll home.
    She’d reached a peaceful place again. A week ago she’d been frantic. All the control she’d exerted over her life had threatened to crumble and leave her soul naked to the elements. Over and over again, she’d imagined how different life would’ve been if she hadn’t been sent to Ceylon. Or even if she’d only known Aidan hadn’t abandoned her. She could’ve