Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I don’t know how many times I’ve told her. She needs to remain in bed.” 

“Mr. Johnson did say she was stubborn.”

“I just wish she’d listen.” 

“I know, but I truly think it’ll be alright, Mr. Todd. I’ll keep an eye on her, and we’ll take everything very slowly. She just wants to get out of the estate for a little while,” Rose pointed out, shrugging her shoulders at the frustrated barber. She stood at the bin, scraping the remnants of crisped potato from the pan she’d used for breakfast. 

Mr. Todd let out another exasperated sigh as he finished clearing the table, bringing their dirty plates and utensils to the counter, “I understand that, Miss Rose. It’s just that she’s reached the very end; her due date is mere weeks away. She’s made it this far, nearly finished and now she’s suddenly demanding to wander the streets of London-” 

“We’re only going to the market, sir. We’ll hardly be wandering the streets of London.”

Mr. Todd shot her a look, “You know what I mean.”  

“Well, it’s not as though she’d be unaccompanied! I’ll be there at the very least, and that’s better than nothing, isn’t it? Besides, Christmas is just around the corner. She doesn’t want to miss out on any of the festivities. You know what the market is like around Christmas time, don’t you? She’ll miss it all in the blink of an eye if she waits,” her eyes lit up at the thought of the fast-approaching holiday. It was already the second Thursday of December, and Rose could hardly believe how fast the time had flown since her arrival. She glanced over at Mr. Todd, who was now hunched over and leaning heavily against the counter with his face in his palms, and she failed to contain her laugh at the sight of his annoyed and entirely apathetic expression, “Yes, yes. I know, you hate Christmas. But some of us like this time of year.” 

“I don’t hate Christmas,” he grumbled, scowling deeply.   

“Oh, how very convincing,” she raised her eyebrows in disbelief, placing a hand on her hip, “It’s alright that you don’t like Christmas, Mr. Todd. You don’t have to pretend for my sake.” 

Mr. Todd scowled a moment longer, then his brow relaxed and he straightened with a sigh, shaking his head, “Truly, I don’t hate it. I’m simply… indifferent to it. I haven’t had anything close to resembling a Christmas celebration since Johanna was a baby.”   

“Oh… of course. That makes sense,” Rose felt her face fall. She should have guessed that would be the reason , “I’m sorry.” 

“No need,” he paused for a moment, then cleared his throat, “But you love the holiday?” 

“Oh yes. I always have, ever since I was a child. Everything looks so beautiful in the snow. And if it gets too cold, you can simply bury yourself beneath a pile of blankets. And with a good book, of course,” Rose let out a laugh, casting a wistful smile at Mr. Todd, “Mostly though, it brings back memories. I have had such wonderful Christmases with my father, with Barry, with Johanna. It’s truly my favorite time of year.“

Mr. Todd’s expression remained solemn, “It doesn’t make you miss them terribly?” 

“It does… but that’s alright.”

“It only reminds me that I’m alone,” Mr. Todd remarked, grunting a humorless laugh.  

“Well… It can be lonely sometimes, but I love it nonetheless,” Rose’s eyes strayed to the frosted windows, the image of Barry’s handsome, smiling face flashing through her mind. She took a breath inward, then returned her gaze to Mr. Todd, who now stared down at the counter between them, “At least neither of us will be alone this year.” 

His eyebrow twitched at her comment, his dark eyes puzzled as they shifted to hers; his lips curled into a small, awkward smile. 

Rose suddenly felt very hot, “That is to say that we have friends now. We have each other- we’re friends, I mean. And we have Victoria! And Mr. Johnson.” 

Mr. Todd’s smile grew, “Yes. I understood what you meant, Miss Rose.” 

Flustered, she let out a laugh, “Right, good. Speaking of Victoria, she should be here soon.” Grabbing the plates from the counter, Rose placed them over the top of the small stack of dirty dishes, her eyes lingering upon them a moment too long. It pained her to not to simply wash them now. Years of living alongside the Judge had conditioned her to avoid leaving any sort of mess, no matter the circumstance. 

But this was not the Judge’s estate, it was her own shop. She had plans, and the dishes would simply have to wait until later. No harm would come to her for that. 

Mr. Todd groaned from behind her, and she craned her neck to meet his eyes, “She’s not going to take no for an answer, you know.” 

“I know,” he rolled his eyes, defeated.  

“I’d best go and ready myself for her. Excuse me, Mr. Todd,” Rose removed her flour-streaked apron, turning to the parlor and making her way to her bedroom. Her heart pounded loudly in her chest; it was ridiculous for her to be as anxious as she was, but try as she might, she couldn’t seem to calm her nerves. 

Rose enjoyed Victoria’s company immensely, but she was among the most intimidating women she’d ever met, and it would be a lie to say that she wasn’t a bit afraid of her. She was stunningly beautiful. High cheekbones and a prominent jawline brought an intensity to her otherwise kind face, and it was clear from looking at her that she was not one to trifle with. Her hair was long and dark, a rich shade of deep brown that contrasted greatly with her light, unblemished skin, and she had her father’s eyes, honey brown and shining with clever wit. They did not hide her emotions well, flashing with fire whenever she became angry or impassioned, which happened quite often.  

She was incredibly intelligent, spending most of her spare time either conducting research or reading various pieces of literature from their extensive library. How Victoria managed to retain everything she learned, Rose would never understand. It seemed as though the woman only had to read something one time in order to commit it to memory. Rose couldn’t begin to imagine what it would be like to have such a talent. Victoria was also immensely strong-willed and unafraid to speak her mind, even if it risked sparking an argument or causing unpleasantness. She had quite a few opinions on London’s current political state, which she voiced loudly and without a moment’s hesitation. There was no trace of fear within her when it came to debate, and while Rose had yet to see her go head to head in a battle of wits with anyone but Mr. Todd, she was certain it would be a sight to behold. 

It was quite funny to watch the interactions that took place between the two of them. Mr. Johnson had warned him she was stubborn, but that had turned out to be quite the understatement. Victoria bickered constantly with Mr. Todd over everything; how much water she should drink, what she should eat and when, how she should sleep, whether she should sit up or lie flat, the list went on and on. It was a sort of bickering Rose had not previously witnessed though; the friendly sort, where it was easy to tell they each had nothing but the utmost respect for one another. Each time Rose expected him to become angry with her, each time she expected their banter to abruptly turn serious, Victoria would say something to neutralize the situation. Sometimes, she even managed to make him laugh. Knowing nothing of his temper, Victoria was fearless when it came to the barber, and Rose often found herself wishing she had even half her nerve.  

Closing her bedroom door behind her, Rose opened the armoire and rifled through her small collection of dresses. She opted for the newest addition, dark red in color and lined with fleece for warmth, as well as the heavier of her two black cloaks. She changed quickly, tossing the dress she’d had on into a basket full of clothes in need of washing, then she tucked her blonde locks up into a neat bun. She checked herself in the mirror, taking a deep breath as she regarded her reflection. 

Despite her nerves, she was incredibly excited for the day ahead. It had taken a great deal of urging on Victoria’s part, but Rose had eventually given in and agreed to a trip to St. Dunstan’s Market to enjoy the festivities and for a bit of Christmas shopping. The trip went against the wishes of both Mr. Johnson and Mr. Todd, which made Rose’s stomach queasy, but Victoria hadn’t cared in the slightest. “That’s much more their problem than ours, wouldn’t you say?” The woman had asked, to which Rose couldn’t figure a reply. Neither of the men had been pleased to hear their plans, but Victoria had insisted they let her go, jokingly threatening to climb out her window if they tried to stop her. Their attempts at persuading her to change her mind went ignored, and eventually, they simply resolved themselves to allow it. There really was no stopping Victoria once she put her mind to something. 

It had been so long since Rose had spent time with any woman other than Johanna, let alone one so close to her own age. Stomach in knots, Rose tugged at a loose strand of hair. She couldn’t shake the worry that she would somehow say or do something wrong, that she might be a bore, or that she might offend Victoria in some way. 

It’ll be fine, she shakily encouraged herself, Victoria is excellent at driving the conversation.   Taking one more breath inward, Rose turned from the mirror and stepped into the parlor.
“Yes, yes. I heard you the first time. It seems though that perhaps you aren’t hearing me,” Mr. Todd’s voice sounded from inside the bakery.  

“I heard you just fine. You think I’ll shatter if I so much as stumble,” Victoria’s voice came in response. 

“That isn’t what I’m saying. It’s just that you’re in a delicate state. You’re already risking a great deal by going outside at all.” 

“Oh yes. Because the sunlight and fresh air will almost certainly harm the baby, right?” her voice was laced with sarcasm. 

“Because women as pregnant as you are now, who exert themselves as much as you’re planning to, can risk creating complications. There are a myriad of things that could happen.” 

“You’re just as silly as my father.” Rose rounded the corner to see Victoria standing with both hands on her hips, looking as polished as ever. Ornate, golden designs patterned her reddish-brown dress, and the panel of white fabric that normally nestled in its middle was stretched tight over the surface of her massive belly. Her long dark hair was adorned with thick braids and swept back into a tight bun, and though her face was stern, her eyes were laughing. 

“Please, Victoria, this is serious-” 

Victoria caught Rose’s eye, and her face contorted into a melodramatic grimace, “Rose, he’s trying to ruin our day together. Shame on you, Mr. Todd.” 

Mr. Todd glanced at Rose and sighed, “So very dramatic. Nothing has to be ruined-”

“I’ve a better idea,” Victoria raised her eyebrows, holding a finger up to the barber, “Since you’re so very concerned, why don’t you just come along with us?”

“Oh… no, I-” 

“Oh, come now! It’ll be fun.” 

Mr. Todd’s gaze shifted pleadingly to Rose, who still stared at Victoria, trying desperately to read her unnervingly neutral expression. 

Surely she isn’t serious. 

“Don’t you want to go Christmas shopping with us?” Victoria prompted again. Perhaps she was being serious after all. 

“I- no, thank you,” Mr. Todd struggled to form a response.

“Why not?” 

“I- well-” 

Rose began to feel panicked as silence fell between them for a moment, then finally, Victoria let out a laugh, “Oh, don’t stress yourself. I’m only teasing. I know you’re practically allergic to Christmas.” Rose stifled a giggle as she watched Mr. Todd’s expression turn to that of pure relief. Victoria shook her head as she went on, “No, Rose and I will be just fine. You’re free to stay and brood the day away.” 

Mr. Todd scoffed, frowning at her, though he said nothing. Victoria may have been joking, but he would likely spend the day doing just that.  

“Well, we’ll be off then!” Victoria announced, turning toward the door, “Goodbye, Mr. Todd. Shall we, Rose?” 

“Goodbye, Mr. Todd,” Rose smiled softly, following behind her.

“I’ll see you this evening, Miss Rose,” Mr. Todd gave her a tight-lipped smile in return. At least he isn’t angry, she supposed as she stepped outside, closing the bakery door behind her. 

The Johnson's private coach sat waiting for them. The driver bowed as he opened its door, and they each thanked him as they took a seat inside. Settling back into the posh, velvet-lined seat, Rose worked to keep from grinning like a fool; it was not every day she was treated to such luxury. After a moment, they felt the driver leap back into his seat, and the coach set off down the road toward the market. Rose’s glee immediately turned to anxiety as she realized exactly what that meant: it was time to make conversation. 

What do I say?

“I cannot begin to tell you how good it feels to be out of the estate,” much to her relief, Victoria spoke first, “It’s been maddening.” 

Rose nodded, her eyebrows pushing together in sympathy, “I don’t doubt it. Especially during this time of year.” 

“I know they mean well, but my father and that Mr. Todd of yours need to understand that I’m not just some fragile little thing. I’m pregnant, not made of porcelain.” 

“They’re only being precautious,” Rose remarked, tittering nervously. 

“Too precautious! It’s ridiculous. I’ll get up to fetch myself some water, and there’s father, ‘Oh now, now, you silly girl, you get yourself back in bed and let one of the staff fetch it for you!’ As if I’m incapable of lifting a glass,” she scoffed, and Rose couldn’t help but laugh at the near-perfect imitation of Mr. Johnson, “I’ll tell you what, it’s bad enough being a woman in this world, but a pregnant woman? It’s as though they believe the brain disappears as the baby grows. Anyway, at least I’m out of the house for now. Thank you for coming with me.”

“Oh, of course! I’ve been quite excited.”

“Yes, it should be fun. My father adores Christmas so.” 

“Will he be joining us?” 

“Later, yes. He’ll join us in choosing a tree for the estate. You can choose one for your bakery if you don’t already have one as well,” Victoria placed a hand over her belly as she sighed, “We’re decorating a bit late this year, as you can tell. I’m usually the one who handles all of that sort of planning, but seeing as I’m forced to remain bedridden, it’s all been left to my father. He’s a bit forgetful, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.” 

“Erm… yes. A bit,” Rose hoped her smile didn’t appear uneasy. 

The conversation came to a pause as Victoria pulled the lacy white curtains back from the window and peered outside. Just as Rose began to panic, she changed the subject, “Are you shopping for anything in particular today?” 

Thank goodness.

“Not really, no. I had hoped to find something for Mr. Todd, but I don’t really have anything in mind,” Rose replied. She doubted she’d be successful in finding him a gift, but it was worth a try.  

“We’ll take a look. I’m sure we can find something,” Victoria smiled. 

Silence fell between them once more, and the knots in Rose’s stomach grew with every passing moment. She had to keep the conversation going somehow. What would Victoria think of her if she only sat staring at her in silence? But what was best to say? What would possibly be interesting enough to entertain someone like Victoria? Rose snuck a peek at the woman, but to her surprise, she looked entirely at ease. 

I shouldn’t be surprised. She’s never uncomfortable. 

Rose admired Victoria’s confidence greatly, but she couldn’t deny that she envied it as well. Unlike her, Victoria was never awkward or uncertain, never embarrassed or anxious. She was so sure of herself, and nothing ever seemed to deter her ability to socialize. 

“So,” the woman’s light brown eyes were suddenly upon her once again, “Tell me a bit about Mr. Todd.” 

Surprised at the sudden shift in conversation, Rose blinked, “Oh! He’s… he’s- um…”  What could she tell Victoria about Mr. Todd that she didn’t already know? He valued his privacy above all else, and she worried she might say the wrong thing or share too much information. The last thing she wanted to do was betray his trust. 

“You do know him, don’t you?” Victoria chuckled, dubiously raising her eyebrows. 

Cheeks flushing, Rose took a deep breath and calmed her mind enough to respond, “Of course, yes, I’m sorry. He’s- well, he’s kind. Quiet. A very talented barber-” 

“He’s a bit odd, isn’t he?” Victoria interrupted, obviously wanting to get to the point of her questioning, “He just seems… sad. As though he’s trapped in some sort of permanent melancholia. Did something happen to him?” 

Unsure of how to respond, Rose hesitated. This was exactly the sort of situation she worked to avoid; Lucy’s death was his personal business, but she couldn’t very well leave Victoria’s question unanswered, “He’s had… a rough go of things. He lost his wife not long ago, and it was very hard on him.” 

Victoria’s eyes softened slightly, “I see. That makes a bit more sense then,” she paused for a moment, then shook her head and snorted a laugh, “That makes my father’s assumption that you were married all the worse then. He was truly convinced, you know.” 

“I know,” Rose let out a light laugh as well, “Sometimes I think he still believes that we are.” 

“He’s only teasing,” Victoria rolled her eyes upward toward the ceiling, bringing both hands to rest over the top of her belly. Her eyes narrowed slightly, and she leaned in as far as it would allow, “Just between us though, is there anything between you and he?”

“Mr. Todd and I?” 

“Well yes, obviously,” Victoria nodded encouragingly.  

Rose shook her head, giggling, “Oh no. Not at all. We’re only friends.” 

“Only friends?” Victoria arched an eyebrow. 

“Yes, good friends.” 

“And that’s why you’re blushing?” 

Rose’s eyes widened,“W-what?” 

“It’s just too easy,” Victoria tossed her head back with a laugh, “I’m only joking.” 

“Oh,” was all Rose could say in response, laughing nervously.   

Their conversation flitted from topic to topic- baby names, Victoria’s upcoming due date, Rose’s slowly growing clientele in the pie shop. Rose’s fear of awkward silence was quickly proving to be quite needless, and before they knew it, the coach had bumped to a stop.  

“Arrived already?” Victoria looked surprised, peeking once more behind the curtains and out the windows, “It appears so. That was quick.” 

The driver opened the door, and Rose stepped down from the coach first, gasping as the chilled breeze grazed her cheeks. She offered her hand to Victoria, who grabbed hold of it tightly as she waddled her way carefully down the stairs. Nodding in thanks, she turned to speak to the driver as Rose looked around in dumbfounded astonishment; it was everything she could have hoped for and more. 

Rays of muted light streamed through the opaque, rectangular windows of the market’s massive, metal cover, and long strands of garland were wrapped around each of its supporting pillars. It had been draped between the buildings as well, each of its hanging tendrils adorned with bright ornaments, some the color of jewels and others of silver and gold. Mistletoe hung from many of the buildings’ awnings, and young couples gathered beneath it, whispering and giggling to one another as they waited for their turn to kiss their sweetheart. People bustled from stand to stand, their cheeks and noses rosy in the cold but a smile on nearly all their faces.  

Many of the booths displayed their usual supply, but others had fully given into the Christmas spirit, selling candles, decorations, fruits and nuts, and a variety of handmade gifts, some large and some small. The paths of the market had been cleared of snow, but patches of powdery white still remained in the exposed areas on the surrounding streets, and although it was quite cold, Rose felt comfortably warm; she had her dress to thank for that. Soft music filled the air from somewhere further back in the market, a quartet of voices raised in perfect harmony, effortlessly shifting together from one chord to the next. The smells of fresh bread, roasted nuts, sliced fruits, and pine needles mingled in the air, replacing the market’s typically less-attractive scents, and Rose closed her eyes as she inhaled deeply.  

“Ready?” Victoria’s voice sounded from beside her. Rose gave her an enthusiastic nod, grinning widely, and the two women set off.  

They meandered through the market, moving slowly from booth to booth and perusing their wares. It seemed as though each booth had something new and astonishing in store for them; wooden figurines, intricately carved with the tiniest details, hand-drawn cards, each with a unique and beautiful design, nicknacks, gifts, ornaments of all shapes and sizes. Victoria purchased a basket and began gathering various items for her friends and her father. Fruits, nuts, ornaments, trinkets, a loaf of fresh bread- slowly but surely, the basket began to grow full, but Rose remained empty-handed. She had yet to see anything Mr. Todd would like, and she was beginning to think the task of finding him a gift might prove impossible. 

Eventually, they reached a booth selling hand-made jewelry, and Victoria selected several items to purchase as gifts for her friends. Rose waited patiently as she spoke to the shop-keeper, busying herself by looking at the displays. The necklaces were much more expensive than Rose was willing to spend, but one locket in particular drew her attention. Its oval shape fit perfectly in the palm of her hand, and its design was simple, yet beautiful: silver and engraved with wildflowers. It hung from a thin, dainty chain, and Rose couldn’t stop herself from returning to it, running her thumb over its smooth surface. She normally had excellent self-control when it came to such things, but she found herself wishing she’d brought a bit more than she currently had in her coin purse. 

“- and this one here, as well, thank you,” Victoria’s hand came into vision unexpectedly, pointing at the locket in Rose’s fingers, “Leave it unpackaged, please.”

Withdrawing her hand quickly, Rose glanced at her in surprise. The shopkeeper, a smiling woman with leathery wrinkles and deep brown eyes, lifted it from its display and handed it to Victoria along with a small, paper sack. They exchanged thank yous, then the shopkeeper turned to help the next customer in line. 

Pulling Rose aside, Victoria turned to face her, eyes sparkling, “Shall I put it on for you?”  

Rose’s eyes widened, “You didn’t have to-” 

“I know! But I wanted to. I can see how much you like it, and tis the season after all,” Victoria interrupted with a brilliant smile, holding the necklace upward and unclasping its chain, “Now let’s see it on. Turn!” 

Rose’s eyebrows squeezed together, and she smiled brightly back at her before turning around. She was so very unaccustomed to receiving gifts, especially a gift as lovely as this one, but it was far more meaningful than that alone. Victoria didn’t know it- in fact, no one at all knew it- but Rose’s birthday was merely a week away. With the exception of the songs and drawings she’d received from Johanna over the years, this was the first birthday gift she’d received since before Barry’s death. It may not have been intended as a birthday gift, but Rose chose to look at it that way all the same. Victoria’s fingers fastened the clasp around the back of her neck, and she reached upward, smiling at the feel of the locket’s cool metal in her palm. She turned back to Victoria, beaming. 

“Let me see,”Victoria nodded, grinning as she regarded Rose, “Oh, it’s just beautiful! Do you like it?” 

“I love it!” Rose placed her hand on Victoria’s forearm, squeezing gently, “Thank you so very much. This… this means a lot to me.”

Victoria patted Rose’s hand, “I’m glad to hear that.” After a moment, they continued, winding back toward the end of the market. 

“So what kinds of things does he like? Mr. Todd, that is. What could you get him?” Victoria asked as they approached a booth selling a wide variety of candles. The saleswoman’s thin face pulled upwards into a grim yet welcoming smile, and Victoria picked out a few as Rose considered her question.  

“I- I actually don’t really know…” she replied softly, feeling her cheeks redden slightly. What did Mr. Todd like? He liked gin, but that wouldn’t do at all. He liked books… at least, it seemed he was beginning to… but what book could she get him? And where would she get it? They had yet to see a bookseller in the market. What else was there? He liked… Rose blinked. It was as though all the information she had learned about Mr. Todd in the last month had left her mind. Victoria was staring at her, and she blurted the first thing that came to mind, “He does like chocolate.” 

“Chocolate?” 

“Yes?” it came out more like a question than a statement. 

“Alright,” Victoria’s head bobbed slowly, “I’m not quite sure what exactly we can do with that. Perhaps we can find some candy? Some bon-bons?” 

“Perhaps,” she couldn’t keep the doubt from entering her voice. 

“What else does he like?”

“Um… I could get him…” Rose struggled to think of something, anything else that the barber might like. 

Chocolate.

Not chocolate. 

You’ve already said that. That isn’t helpful, Rose.  

“We’ll know when we see it!” Victoria reassured her, seeming as though she could sense Rose’s growing discomfort.  

With Victoria’s back beginning to ache, they began making their way back to the coach, winding their way back down the market’s path. It was even busier now than before. Rose had never been particularly fond of crowds, but Victoria kept any anxiety from entering Rose’s mind. She took the lead, forcing the crowd to part as they made their way through, and Rose followed directly behind her, uncontrollably uttering apologies to all those they bumped. She took a deep breath as the coach came into view, a mixture of relief and disappointment washing over her. She was thankful that she would soon be away from the crowds, but she was sad their time at the market was coming to an end. She also hadn’t managed to find anything for Mr. Todd, which frustrated her greatly. Rose scanned the surrounding buildings: a tailor, a cabinetry, a butcher, a bookshop… a bookshop. She felt her face immediately light up at the sight; there had to be something inside that he’d like.  

“Erm- Victoria,” Rose paused, and the other woman turned to face her, “Before we go, do you mind if we make one more stop? Just in there?” She pointed toward the bookshop. 

Victoria nodded as her eyes found the sign, “Oh, sure! I haven’t been inside in years. I wonder if Mr. Errington is still the owner.” 

“You know the owner?” 

Victoria gave her a look, “You’ll come to find that my father knows most everyone in the city.”

Rose shot her a thankful smile, then the two crossed the street and entered the shop. The light inside was quite dim when compared to the bright white of the outside sky, and Rose blinked rapidly as her eyes adjusted. The shop’s interior was rather cluttered, and while it was quite a large room, it was made considerably smaller by the towering stacks of unshelved books, which took up most of the unused space along the walls. The middle portion of the room was filled with rows upon rows of stuffed bookshelves. Those toward the front of the shop were beautifully organized, but Rose could see that they became much less so toward the back of the shop. The back wall itself looked to be utter chaos; books stuck out from the shelves in every direction, some upside down, some on their sides, some leaning at a diagonal, but none even remotely straight, and even larger stacks of books sat surrounding them. Both women glanced around to catch a glimpse of the shopkeeper, but he was nowhere to be seen.  

“Hello?” Victoria called out. 

A man’s head poked out from behind one of the shelves with a startled grunt, then he smiled, his voice was gruff yet cheery, “My apologies!” Rose heard the shuffling of footsteps as he descended the steps of the ladder he had apparently been standing on, then he emerged from around the corner, squinting at the both of them. The small man had a thick, wiry beard and white, wispy eyebrows, a bulbous nose and two button eyes; his round face instantly brightened at the sight of Victoria. 

“Miss Johnson! How lovely to see you.” 

“Mr. Errington, it’s been far too long. It’s Mrs. Hudson now, in fact.” 

“Ah yes, of course, of course. Forgive my memory, love. It seems like just yesterday you were only a wee thing!” the man brought his hand to his head as he bumbled toward them, “But my, my! Look at you now! All grown up and with a little one of your own on the way? Congratulations! How far along are you?” 

Victoria smiled, “Thank you, sir. I’m nearly due. Should be around the start of January.” 

“How wonderful. How is Mr. Hudson?” 

“He’s quite well.”

“A military man, isn’t he?” 

“Yes, sir. He’s traveling currently.”  

“And your father?” 

“He’s just fine.”

“Good to hear.” 

Victoria turned to Rose, “Oh, where are my manners? Mr. Errington, this is my dear friend, Rose Rickman. We’re doing a bit of Christmas shopping.”

“Lovely to meet you, Miss Rickman,” Mr. Errington bowed his head, and Rose smiled in return. 

“Good to meet you, sir. It’s a lovely shop you have here.” 

“Why, thank you! My pride and joy. Feel free to have a look around, and let me know if you’re in need of any assistance!” 

“Thank you, sir,” Rose gave him a nod, and the man winked before turning back to Victoria, eagerly releasing a slew of questions upon her. Was she eating enough? How often was the baby kicking? Had she considered any names thus far? Rose smiled to herself; she could tell just from the few minutes she’d spent in his presence that he and Mr. Johnson would make quite the pair. 

Rose began exploring the shop as Victoria patiently answered each of the man’s inquiries, and she found herself instantly admiring his rather extensive collection. She quickly became overwhelmed in the best way. A multitude of worlds new and different from her own lay just between the pages of these books, each of them only an arm’s length away; she felt as though she could stay there for hours. About three shelves back, she was delighted to find a beautiful section devoted to various works of Washington Irving, their spines of crimson red, sapphire blue, and corn yellow adorned in patterns of silver and gold. She hesitated to touch them , but eventually she pulled one from the shelf, a volume which contained both The Legend of Sleepy Hollow and Rip Van Winkle, which Rose had always wanted to read. The cover was stunning, midnight blue and soft to the touch, with a swirling design of golden vines etched around its border. She leafed through the pages, crisp and untouched, and she felt her heart swell; it was far nicer than any in Rose’s own tiny library, but perhaps she’d be able to purchase it. Perhaps…  

Her eyes fell to the parchment displayed on the bookshelf, her heart instantly sinking in disappointment as she realized she was wrong. It was no true surprise that it was too expensive, but Rose felt as though she’d suffered a great loss even so. With a heavy sigh, she placed the book back on her shelf and continued through the shop. Dwelling on your disappointment will do you no good, her father’s voice sounded in her head, and she knew he was right. She didn’t need the book after all, and besides, she was here to find a gift for Mr. Todd. She kept her hopes up as she slowly made her way toward the back of the store, steering clear from the disorder of the back shelf, but to her dismay, it appeared that everything was in that same price range. 

So much for finding anything here, she thought in frustrated disappointment. She knew it was silly, that Mr. Todd would not expect any gift from her at all; he certainly wouldn’t be getting her a gift himself. Still, she wanted to get him something. Perhaps it would help improve his opinion of Christmas, and if nothing else, it’d surely bring a smile to his face.   

“There you are,” a breathless Victoria appeared between the shelves, “Easy to get lost in here. Find anything good?” 

“Oh, yes. This truly is the most wonderful shop,” Rose spoke enthusiastically, “There’s a collection of Mr. Washington Irving’s just over there that’s simply beautiful.” 

“Excellent! Shall we have Mr. Errington box them up?”

“Oh, no. They’re lovely, but quite a bit more than what I can spend for the day,” Rose smiled, shaking her head, “I have copies of most of them at home anyway.”

Victoria stared at her for a moment, eyebrows raised, then she returned the smile, “You should take a look up front. He’s got a whole section of beautiful hand-bound journals. I think you might like them.” 

Following Victoria’s suggestion, Rose made her way through the shelves toward the front of the shop, smiling shyly at Mr. Errington as she passed the counter behind which he stood. Victoria was correct: the journals were beautiful. Their leather-bound covers varied in color from rich browns to deep blacks, some boasting scrawling designs and others left plain. Her eyes flitted from one to the next, but a plain, black journal at the back of the section caught her eye. A red, ribbon bookmark peeked from between its pages, and the tips of its corners were enclosed in silver. A matching clasp was embedded into the center of its cover, securing it closed; it was simple, yet elegant. 

He’ll like that. 

Rose knew it instantly. Hopes reignited, her eyes strayed to the podium on which the journal was displayed, but no price was listed; there was only a small piece of parchment which read: Engraving 1£. Perhaps if the price was low enough, she could even have it engraved for him. Considering the store’s average prices though, there was likely no way she would be able to afford it. 

“See anything you like?” Rose started as Mr. Errington’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. 

“Oh- yes, sir. They’re beautiful.” 

“Which one catches your fancy?” 

“That back one there.” 

“Ah, yes. For yourself? Or a friend?” 

“A friend,” Rose shook her head, “But sadly, I don’t think I’ll be able to make the purchase. It’s a fair price indeed for the product, of course, but I don’t believe I have enough.”

Mr. Errington frowned for a moment, the long tufts of his white eyebrows pushing upward, then his face softened, “Well, how much can you pay?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“What can you afford?” 

“No more than 2£, sir,” Rose said quietly, “I know it isn’t enough.” 

Mr. Errington gave her a toothy grin, “You’ve got yourself a deal.” 

“What?” Rose’s eyes widened. 

“Any friend of the Johnsons is a friend of mine. The journal is yours,” he said simply. She opened her mouth to protest, but he’d already seized the journal and made for the front counter, “Now, for the engraving. What would you like?” 

“No, no. It’s- you’re much too kind,” Rose stammered, laughing nervously, “While I appreciate it very much, Mr. Errington, this really isn’t necessary.” 

“The journal is yours,” the man repeated, shaking his head and waving his hands at her, “I’ll hear nothing more of it!” 

Rose watched him for a moment in stunned silence, then a beaming smile spread across her face, “Oh, thank you, sir! Thank you so very much!” 

It took less time than she expected for Mr. Errington to ready the journal, perfectly packaged and now donning Mr. Todd’s initials, a perfectly engraved ST in the lower right hand corner. Rose was filled with excitement; she so hoped he would like it, and she could already tell she would have a difficult time keeping it a secret until Christmas. 

After bidding Mr. Errington goodbye, the two women left the shop and returned to the coach, which set off toward the estate to pick up William. It was a shorter distance than Rose expected, and although she had worried she might run out of things to talk about with Victoria, they experienced no such issue. In no time, they arrived at the estate, pulling around the corner to see Mr. Johnson waiting on the front steps. The grinning old man tipped his hat at Rose as he opened the door of the coach. 

“Good afternoon, ladies! I trust everything has been splendid thus far?” he chirped, eyes disappearing in his smile.  

Victoria glanced at Rose, chuckling before giving him a smile, “Yes, father.”

“Wonderful!” Mr. Johnson clapped his hands together, “Now, there has been a slight change of plans. The tree has… erm… already arrived, you see. So I thought we might simply have tea instead!” 

“The tree is already here?” Victoria asked, her eyebrow arching incredulously. 

“Y- eh. Well, yes. It appears I ordered it several days ago,” Mr. Johnson laughed sheepishly, earning an affectionate eye roll from Victoria. He dipped his head downward, peering up at them from behind his glasses, “Tea?” 

Mr. Johnson offered his hand, and Rose stepped down from the coach. She turned to help Victoria and Mr. Johnson held his arm out as well, standing across from Rose on the other side of the door. Victoria glanced back and forth between them, huffing as she prepared to stand, “I can walk, you know.” Despite her complaint, she took both their hands and struggled to her feet, carefully stepping down to stand beside Rose. Mr. Johnson thanked his driver, then turned back to Victoria. 

“And how is our little buttercup?” he placed a hand on her stomach, and she glared at him in annoyance, though her eyes remained entirely loving. Rose watched as the two suddenly started, their eyes widening in unison as their expressions turned to matching grins. Mr. Johnson turned to Rose eagerly, “Oh! I got a kick! The little buttercup says hello!” 

“Right. Shall we head inside then?” Victoria stepped away from the cooing Mr. Johnson, who cleared his throat and straightened at her words. 

“Yes! But…” he paused, holding one finger up and staring at his daughter. 

Victoria tilted face downward, raising both her eyebrows, “But what?” 

“I should warn you,” Mr. Johnson began again, looking somewhere between giddy and concerned, “The tree is rather large.” 

Victoria’s face grew concerned, “Oh no. Father, what have you done?” 

“Nothing, nothing! It’s just… it’s a bit large, is all!” He turned and waltzed up the stairs, “You’ll see in a moment, my love!” 

Rose and Victoria looked at one another for a moment, then they followed her father toward the estate. Though not as large or luxurious as the Judge’s estate, stepping inside Johnson Manor was like stepping into another world entirely, and Rose caught herself admiring its mahogany interior each time she entered. This time, the scent of pine needles and fresh apples greeted them as they opened the door, and the moment they set foot into the entryway, they could see exactly why. 

Both women gasped at the sight, and a gleeful giggle escaped Mr. Johnson. 

He had told the truth; the tree was indeed large. Massive, in fact. Its tip nearly touched the ceiling, and its branches reached far into the middle of the room, taking up several times the space that a normal tree would. A few servants bustled around it, arranging its limbs and sweeping up fallen needles, and Rose could see what appeared to be hundreds of unlit candles as well as several boxes of decorations on the floor, waiting to be arranged.  

“Father…” Victoria breathed. 

“I did say it was large.”

“It’s ridiculous. ” 

“It’s festive! Christmas only comes once a year, after all!” Mr. Johnson turned to Rose, his lips curved upward, “I adore Christmas, you know.” 

“I do too,” Rose said softly, smiling back at the old man. His eyes crinkled as his face lit up. 

“See? Miss Rose likes it,” ignoring Victoria’s glare, he adjusted his glasses, removing his top hat and hanging it on the coat rack. Rose removed her cloak as well, with Victoria grumbling behind her, then the three moved through a set of double doors into a small cream-colored parlor, where they each took a seat. Within moments, a plump woman with thin, brown hair and a deep scowl entered holding a silver platter. 

“Ah, splendid! Trudy! Thank you so very much,” Mr. Johnson exclaimed. 

“Of course, Mr. Johnson,” she replied in a thick German accent. She placed the platter on the table between them, then poured steaming hot water from the kettle into each of their cups, “Will there be anything else?” 

“No, no. Thank you,” he thanked the woman, who curtseyed stiffly and left the room. He turned his attention back to the two women as he settled back into the plush of his chair, “Now! How was the market place?” 

“It was lovely,” Rose mused. 

“Yes, it was,” Victoria agreed, “We went into Mr. Errington’s shop. He says hello.” 

Mr. Johnson’s brow furrowed in thought, “Mr. Errington? Errington- oh, yes! Of course! Why, hello back to him. He still owns the bookstore?” 

“He does. He seems to be doing quite well,” Victoria nodded. 

“Wonderful! Did you find anything good?” 

“Rose did, yes. She got a very nice journal for Mr. Todd.” 

Mr. Johnson wiggled his eyebrows,“Oh, my. Lovely indeed. I’m sure he’ll love it.” 

He winked, and Rose felt her cheeks flushing; she was never certain how to respond when Mr. Johnson teased in this way, “I hope so, sir.” 

“And where is he today?” he asked. 

“Mr. Todd? Oh- he’s just back at the shop.” 

“Why didn’t he accompany you?” 

Rose cocked her head, straining for the simplest response. Mr. Johnson’s questions were typically endless and nearly impossible to stop once they started, and she knew she needed to shift the topic as soon as possible, “He… he isn’t quite as keen on Christmas as you or I.” 

Mr. Johnson blinked at Rose as though she had said something outlandish, “He doesn’t like Christmas?” 

“Well, no. He’s merely indifferent to it, is all. He-” Rose stammered, “It’s a bit complicated.” 

Mr. Johnson poured a substantial portion of cream into his cup, then dropped a lump of sugar in as well and began to stir, “Complicated? In what way, my dear?” 

Oh no. 

“He’s had a difficult life,” Rose gave a variation of her usual answer, “He really doesn’t like to talk about it.” 

Mr. Johnson’s brow furrowed for a moment as he sipped his tea, then he pulled it from his lips, dropping a second lump to the bottom of the cup, “I see. Now that you mention it, I have noticed that he seems to avoid conversation most often.” 

“Well-”

“Yes, I noticed the same,” Victoria interrupted, agreeing with her father, “Does he do that with you as well, Rose?” 

“Um… sometimes-” 

“Well of course he doesn’t do it to her, silly girl. Husbands always speak to their wives.” 

“They aren’t married, father. You know that. Besides, I asked Rose the question. Let her speak.” 

Rose laughed awkwardly, stirring a bit of cream into her own mug and bringing it to her lips to sip, “He does tend to stick to himself for the most part, yes.”

“Tell me a bit about him!” Mr. Johnson took another sip, “I feel as though I hardly know the man.” 

Not again…

“He loves his work,” Rose began, her mind racing. It had been bad enough to draw a blank in front of Victoria alone, but to do so again in front of the both of them? Why was this question so difficult to answer, “And he’s very good at it. He’s been in the profession all his life.” 

“Oh yes, yes. I know he’s an excellent barber. Tell me about him, dear,” Mr. Johnson raised his eyebrows. 

“He’s- he’s a difficult man to describe,” Rose knew it wouldn’t be enough to save her from his questioning. 

“But-”  

“Oh, leave her alone, father,” Victoria came to her rescue, earning a look of gratitude from Rose. 

Her father opened his mouth to protest, but Victoria held up a finger, and it reluctantly fell closed, “Well, I suppose I’ll just have to spend some more time with dear Mr. Todd, myself.” 

“You’re running out of time,” Victoria patted her belly, “He won’t need to come around for much longer.” 

Mr. Johnson scowled, “But they’ll visit. Won’t you, Miss Rose?” 

“Of course, sir,” Rose smiled in assurance. Though his questions made her uncomfortable, she couldn’t help but adore the happy old man. 

“And that is a promise, isn’t it?” Mr. Johnson prompted, pointing a wrinkled finger toward her.

“Yes, sir. I promise.” 

Mr. Johnson looked relieved, “Very good, very good. You’re always welcome here! And we’ll visit as well, of course. I can’t go more than a week without one of your lemon squares.” 

Rose snorted a laugh, “That makes me quite happy to hear.” 

“Her raspberry pies are incredible as well,” Victoria patted her arm affectionately. 

“Everything she makes is wonderful!” Mr. Johnson declared, “Miss Rose, are you as wonderful a cook as you are a baker?” 

“Oh, I- erm… I do enjoy cooking as well. I don’t know how I’d compare to your cooks here at the estate.” 

“I believe you’re being humble. I’m sure your cooking is quite delicious,” Victoria chided. 

“That’s it!” Mr. Johnson raised his hands, “We should have a dinner party!” 

“What a wonderful idea!” Victoria said excitedly. 

“If you don’t mind cooking for us, of course, Miss Rose.” 

Feeling both surprised and flattered, Rose smiled in return, “Oh, I don’t mind at all! That would be lovely. Although- well, would we hold it here in the estate? I’d offer to host, but the bakery is quite small and much less nice than you are both accustomed to,” she laughed, shaking her head at the thought of the four of them gathered around the bakery’s small table.

“Ah, yes! In the bakery!” Mr. Johnson’s head bobbed enthusiastically, “What an excellent idea!”

Rose’s eyes widened, “Wait… really?” 

“Why not?” 

“But- it’s so small.” 

“I’m sure the four of us will fit just fine,” Victoria laughed lightly. 

Befuddled, Rose’s gaze shifted back and forth between the two of them, then she finally shrugged, “Alright, I suppose. So long as you don’t mind.” 

Mr. Johnson beamed, “Hooray! A dinner party? This evening then?” 

“Tomorrow evening might be better,” Victoria suggested, likely noticing that Rose’s eyes had grown wide with alarm. 

“Tomorrow evening,” Rose repeated, “Yes, that can certainly work.” 

“We’ll be by around 7 o’clock, then.” 

With the plan for dinner set in place, the three sat chatting as they sipped at their tea. As per usual, Mr. Johnson steered the conversation toward babies; he could do little to contain his excitement, and his eagerness to meet his grandchild brought a warm feeling to Rose’s heart. That child would grow up loved, of that she was certain. It was late afternoon by the time they were finished, and Mr. Johnson fetched the driver, who brought the coach around to return Rose to the bakery. She bid them each goodbye, each of them offering a friendly, “See you tomorrow!” before stepping into the coach. 

The moment she was alone, Rose’s stomach sank. The nerves had arrived, and they were here with a vengeance. You’ve no reason to be nervous, she reminded herself, you’ve done this for years. She was no stranger to cooking to aristocrats, and the Johnsons would most certainly be kinder and more appreciative than the Judge or any of his guests. No one would scream at her if she made a bit of a mess, and she wouldn’t be punished for serving dinner a few minutes late; she wouldn’t be hit for adding too much salt. She could eat her own cooking, and it wouldn’t end in a night of lashes. All of that was over now. 

Still, they probably have rather expensive taste… 

When was the last time you even went to market? 

Do you have the proper ingredients? 

What will you even make?

What if- 

Rose took a deep breath, steeling her thoughts. There was no need to panic like this. The Johnsons were kind people; they were her friends. Besides, she had proven time and time again that her cooking skills would not let her down. 

I can do this. 

Rose began mentally filtering through various recipes. She wanted it to be something festive, of course, and something worthy of an aristocrat’s taste. Perhaps a roast goose? Some sort of potato dish, as well, and… sage stuffing. Yes, that would do; it had been years since she made it, and it was absolutely delicious. For dessert… Well, the options were numerous when it came to dessert. Perhaps a lemon tart, since Mr. Johnson loved her lemon squares so dearly. 

Setting the table would be the most difficult part, she presumed. The table in the bakery would hardly be enough space for the four of them, let alone the dishes she’d need to prepare. She’d need to arrange the food for serving on the counter, she guessed, and there would be very little space for decorations. Still, she didn’t have any decorations… It mattered little, but she hoped she’d be able to find something to spruce up the room a bit. 

She’d need to make another trip to market anyway, as she lacked most of the items she needed for dinner. Perhaps if I invite him, Mr. Todd will come with me, Rose thought hopefully, though she doubted she was correct. They had not gone to the market together since their first outing the day after her arrival. He probably wouldn’t be interested in going now that it’s all Christmas in full swing. 

Rose spent the rest of the coach ride back trying to work out each of the details for the following evening. The shopping would need to be quite early so that she had the full day to prepare and as much time as possible to cook. Back at the bakery, she stepped onto the pavement and thanked the driver once again, who tipped his hat before setting off back toward the estate. Rose glanced up the staircase to the barbershop, wondering what Mr. Todd might be up to, then she turned to the bakery door, unlocking it and stepping inside. 

She moved forward to step behind the counter, but a flash of green caught her eye; a tree, small and a bit disheveled, sat in the corner of the room. Rose stared at it for a moment in confusion, wondering why it might be there and where it might have come from. Her lips curled into a wide grin as the realization washed over her, Mr. Todd must have brought it home.

Rose felt giddy thinking about the grumbling barber going out into the cold to purchase a tree. He didn’t even like Christmas, but he’d done it anyway. 

Just for me, Rose’s cheeks reddened, he did it just for me. 

Feeling light and happy, she made her way to the pantry to assess their current stock and make an official plan for the next day’s meal.  

I’ve no need to worry, she reminded herself, no need at all. 

For the love of God, man, focus. 

Sweeney huffed in frustration as he restarted the paragraph he’d now read three times, eyes rolling in annoyance. He’d nearly reached the end of Rose's book, and he was eager to finish it so that they could discuss it. She’d asked after his progress often enough for him to realize just how anxious she was to hear his thoughts. Each time he told her what was happening in the story, her face would light up and she’d have to bite her lip to keep from speaking out, a million questions lingering in her eyes. He’d assured her he didn’t mind discussing it ahead of its ending, but Rose had thought it better to wait, hoping to avoid any accidental reveals; she didn’t want to spoil anything for him. 

Sweeney had enjoyed the book immensely so far. He could easily understand why it was Rose’s favorite, and while he normally had no issue immersing himself in the story, the smells wafting through the floorboards were making it entirely impossible to pay attention to anything but his growing hunger. 

It had been quite a busy day, and Sweeney’s first customer had arrived so early that he’d had to skip breakfast. He’d planned to go downstairs once he was finished, but another customer arrived, and then another, and another after that, marking this his busiest day since his reopening. He’d finally closed for the day, but his hunger had passed, and besides, he wanted to finish the book before seeing Rose. It was strange; he’d expected that there might be a lull in his business after being closed for so long, but there’d been no such issue. The men of London were eager to have him back, and they flocked to him the very moment his doors reopened. It felt good to be a barber again; a real barber instead of the murderous imposter he’d been before. He hesitated to admit it, but things were finally beginning to feel better. 

The suspicions surrounding his shop appeared to have waned, which lifted a considerable load from Sweeney’s shoulders. Chief Janvier had only returned to his shop on one occasion. Sweeney had been a bit nervous when he arrived; he’d not seen the man since meeting his family, and he worried that he might be returning to pose more unanswerable questions. His worries had been alleviated, however, when he learned that the Chief had only wanted a shave. He’d still seemed a bit on edge, but the atmosphere in the barber shop was far less tense than it had been in their previous interactions. Sweeney’s heartbeat had quickened at the mention of Mrs. Lovett, but he’d remained calm, shaking his head and giving the Chief the same answer he’d given each time before: he’d yet to see or hear from her at all, and it seemed she had run away for good. Mustering as much false concern as he could, Sweeney had then asked after the Judge and the Beadle, his worries further assuaged when the Chief only shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. There’d still been no luck in finding them, and he and his men feared the worst. When the shave was finished, the two men had bid one another goodbye with a firm handshake. Sweeney was quite pleased that his hands had healed at last and that the Chief’s iron grip no longer sent spasms of pain up his arm.    

Between his near-constant stream of customers and his frequent appointments with Victoria, he was too busy to think of anything but work during the day. It had helped to regulate his sleeping and eating habits significantly, and he’d allowed himself to fall into a comfortable routine. Most mornings now began with breakfast and coffee in the bakery alongside Rose, and afterward, he’d see customers until lunchtime. He’d eat again if he felt hungry, then he’d return to his shop in case anyone else stopped in. Victoria’s appointments took place a few times per week in the late afternoon, and Rose accompanied him to offer any assistance he might need. In the evenings, he’d busy himself preparing for the next day, paying bills, or reading until dinner, which had become his favorite part of the day. He and Rose would sit together and eat, and afterward, they’d move to the parlor to read or talk with one another. It was exactly what he needed: simple and steady. Sweeney smiled to himself, looking forward to the evening ahead of him. From what he could tell, a delicious meal was in store for him, and if he managed to finish reading by then, they'd be able to discuss the book together. 

You’ll only be able to finish if you actually focus.  

It was an easier task said than done. Sweeney sighed, his mind drifting to gin for a moment. He shook the thought away, redirecting his attention to the string of printed words on the page. He’d been drinking considerably less, and he couldn’t deny that he felt all the better for it. He’d have a bit throughout the day and some at night, of course, but nowhere near as much as before. As a matter of fact, he hadn’t been drunk in quite some time; the voices in his mind had remained silent, as had the ghosts of his fallen victims. It had been that way since he locked the bakehouse door, and he hoped with all his might that he’d seen and heard the last of them. 

Sweeney’s eyes shifted to the window, his thoughts turning to Lucy. He still couldn’t go more than an hour without thinking of her, picturing her face, wondering what life would be like if he’d been able to find her alive. He still wept some nights, cursing himself and begging to somehow turn back time; he’d sit in his chair, holding his head in his hands as the tears rolled silently down his cheeks, but while the thought of death did occasionally cross his mind, he dared not lift his razor from its box. Lucy would not want that fate for him; he was certain of that now. He would never be able to earn her forgiveness, but he could at least live out the rest of his days in her honor. 

Even so, it was a comfort to know that his faithful friend sat waiting for him should the need ever arise again. 

Sweeney watched as flecks of white softly swirled to the ground, coating the cobblestone streets in a layer of fine powder. Some of the neighboring buildings had been decorated for Christmas, their normally drab appearances brightened by tufts of mistletoe and long strings of garland wrapped in silver and gold. The festive decor had always brought a smile to Lucy’s face; she’d once said it helped remind her of the goodness in people. She loved the way it united the city, the way it gathered friends and families from far and wide to come together to share joy with one another. Lucy adored Christmas, and she’d been beside herself in excitement for their first together as a family. 

He knew it had once been a happy memory, one that he should have cherished beyond measure, but he was ashamed to admit that it was gone from him now. Sweeney squeezed his eyes shut, trying to recall the events of one of his few happy Christmases, but only a few stray images came to mind: the reflection of candlelight in Lucy’s eyes, the music of baby Johanna’s laugh and the curve of her toothy smile. He racked his brain, willing himself the bittersweet memory to return to him, but there was nothing. It had been this way for years, and it was the main reason he disliked the holiday so greatly. 

God, that smell. What is she making? 

The aroma of herbs, spices, and roasting meat ripped Sweeney from his thoughts. He had no idea what Rose was doing, but whatever it was already had his mouth watering. She had appeared in the window early that morning, but his first customer had already arrived. She hadn’t come in when he beckoned her inside, giving only a small wave before disappearing back down the stairs. Sweeney had yet to have a meal of hers that he did not enjoy, but he guessed from the smell that tonight’s dinner might surpass all the others. He was surprised she’d started so early; usually she didn’t begin dinner until she’d closed for the evening. Perhaps she closed early? It was possible, but unlikely. Business was better now for her than it had been before, though she still had yet to see the crowds even close to those of Mrs. Lovett. If it had been a particularly slow day, he supposed she may have closed the shop already.

No longer able to resist his curiosity, Sweeney closed his book and placed it on his cot before treading to the door and making his way downstairs. He hurried through the cold and into the warmth of the bakery, shivering as he brushed the tiny snowflakes from his shoulders. He glanced around him, eyes searching for Rose, but she was nowhere to be seen. Guessing she might be in the washroom, he took a seat at the table. He sat quietly for a moment, picking at his fingernails, then he heard a door open and close, and the sound of Rose’s soft humming filled the air. He looked up to see her waltzing into the room, arms up and around an imaginary partner as she stepped in time with the unfamiliar melody. She held a wooden spoon in one hand and a bunch of sage in the other, and her eyes were closed in contentment, a dreamy smile playing on her lips. Sweeney couldn’t help but smile at the sight, eyebrows raised incredulously as he watched the woman twirl about. He admired the low, warmth of her singing voice; he’d never heard her sing before. Rose spun around once more, her light eyes opening at last and growing wide in horrified surprise as they fell to Sweeney. She let out a yelp, stumbling backwards and knocking her hip against the side of the counter. She straightened and stared at him for a moment, then her hand came up to cover her smile as a laugh bubbled up through her. Sweeney’s smile broadened.  

“I obviously did not hear you come in,” her voice was breathless, her face bright red and her expression sheepish. 

“Obviously not,” he chuckled. 

“Sorry about that,” Rose turned around, moving back behind the counter and refusing to meet his eye, “I was just- well… sorry about that,” she said again, her voice thick with embarrassment, “Erm- how has your day been?” 

“Good. Busy. And yours?”

“It’s been a nice day so far. The market was quite busy this morning.” 

Sweeney cocked his head, “You went back to the market?” 

“Oh- yes! I needed to pick up a few things for tonight. That reminds me, I meant to tell you this morning, but the Johnsons are coming for dinner.” 

Sweeney frowned. 

The Johnsons? 

Tonight? 

No. Please no. 

“They’re coming here? Tonight?” He could feel his face fall, and he fought to keep his voice even. 

“This evening, yes,” Rose leaned down and opened the oven door, spilling another wave of the delicious aroma into the bakery. 

Sweeney shook his head, “But… why? Why here? Why not at their estate?” 

Why are they coming at all? 

“I’m not certain. I was rather surprised they wanted to come here.” 

Why? Why?! 

“But it’s too small,” he protested. 

“I told Mr. Johnson the same thing, but you know how he can be,” Rose closed the oven once more and stood upright, “But I think it’ll work out just fine! There’s room enough for all the food on the counter, and it’ll be a bit tight, but it shouldn’t be too bad.” 

“But- but what is the occasion?” Sweeney’s voice was tight. 

Rose finally glanced up at him, “Erm- it’s Christmas, sir.” 

“It isn’t Christmas yet.” 

“Well, no, but that’s alright. I hardly assumed they’d want to spend Christmas day itself in the bakery.” 

Stifling a groan, Sweeney pressed his lips together and nodded. This was not the news he had hoped for, not in the slightest, but he supposed he should have known something like this might be planned; why else would she have been cooking such a meal? 

It wasn’t that he disliked the Johnsons. In fact, they were the only tolerable aristocrats he’d ever come to know. He enjoyed Victoria’s company, although it seemed she had made it her mission to make his job of caring for her as difficult as possible. She was a wonder, that woman; more strong-willed and outspoken than even Mrs. Lovett herself, though Victoria had the elegance and grace the other woman lacked. Mr. Johnson, on the other hand… it wasn’t that he disliked the man; his presence made him more uncomfortable than anything else. It was obvious that Rose had grown quite fond of him, but his relentless teasing and endless questions annoyed Sweeney to no end. He knew the man was only trying to get to know him, to be his friend, and that was the last thing he wanted. 

Now they’ll be here, in the bakery, all night. 

Wonderful. 

A haze of annoyance settled over his mind, and he felt his face turn to stone. The evening he’d been looking forward to was now nothing more than a horrid social event; he should have anticipated it. He felt foolish for thinking she’d go to all this trouble for only the two of them.  

Sweeney’s dark eyes flicked back to Rose, who he now realized was speaking. She looked at him expectantly, and he shook his head, “I’m sorry. What was that?” 

Rose’s face was lined with concern, “You will join us, won’t you?”

“Do I have a choice?” He laughed, though there wasn’t the faintest trace of a smile upon his lips.

“Of course you have a choice,” obviously not finding any humor in Sweeney’s joke, Rose’s eyebrows pushed together, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. But it would be nice, and Mr. Johnson mentioned that he’d like to spend some time getting to know you.” 

Oh, absolutely not.  

“I thought it might be fun,” Rose added. 

Perhaps, if an interrogation is your idea of fun. 

“I-” Sweeney began, then paused, adjusting his tone to ensure he remained calm and polite. His annoyance was not with Rose, and he did not want to upset her, “I’m not feeling quite up to company tonight. I’ll be upstairs.” 

“Are you certain?” 

Beyond the shadow of a doubt. 

“Yes.” 

“Alright,” her voice softened, and she looked a bit hurt, “Well, I do hope you’ll reconsider.” 

Sweeney smiled as best he could; his mood had grown foul and was worsening by the minute, “I hope you have fun.” 

Rose stared at him a moment, looking as though she might have something to say, then she gave him a nod, “Thank you, sir. I’ll leave a plate for you.” 

She’s upset. 

It doesn’t matter. She’ll get over it. 

Suddenly longing for the solitude of his shop, Sweeney stood, turning toward the door. 

“Wait- you’re leaving already?” Rose’s voice sounded from behind the counter, and he craned his neck to look at her. She looked confused and a bit disappointed, but he couldn’t bring himself to stay.

“Yes,” Sweeney said quickly, “I have some work to do upstairs.” 

“Well… you’ve only just come down. Would you like something to eat? I could-” 

“No,” he interrupted, fighting the brusqueness creeping into his tone, “No, thank you.” 

“Before you go, sir, I wanted to thank you for the tree.” 

Sweeney’s eyes widened. 

The bloody tree. 

He hadn’t known what he’d been thinking when he purchased it. The moment he’d gotten it inside, he’d begun to regret the decision, and he’d been mere seconds from hiding it away somewhere in one of the back alleys out of embarrassment. But he’d left it there; he knew Christmas made Rose happy, and at the time, that had been cause enough to bring it home. 

“Er- yes. The tree. Right,” Stop stammering, “You’re welcome, Miss Rose.” 

“It was lovely to come home to it.” 

“Alright,” Alright? That is a proper response, “I mean, good. I’m glad. I had hoped you’d like it.” 

Rose smiled sweetly, though worry still clung to her brow, “I do, sir. Very much.” 

Sweeney nodded, giving her a tight-lipped smile. Unable to think of anything else to say, he turned once more, “I’ll be upstairs,” he repeated, stepping toward the door. Rose did not stop him, and he was outside before she could respond, taking the steps two at a time as he rushed back to his shop. 

He closed the door behind him and leaned his back against it, breathing hard after his jaunt through the frosty air. The annoyance was now hot in his chest, and that in itself frustrated him immensely; there was no reason to be this upset, but he couldn’t help it. Was a quiet evening too much to ask? 

Every evening is a quiet evening. 

It was true, but the thought only frustrated him further. Sweeney let out a heavy sigh, crossing over to the vanity and glaring at his reflection in the mirror. 

It’s fine. I’m not that hungry anyway. 

~

Sweeney pressed his arms into his aching stomach as it let out another angry growl; he was now paying the price for having skipped lunch. It was growing more painful by the moment, made worse even by the fact that he now had nothing more to do. He’d cleaned his shop and prepped his supplies for the following days; he’d gone over his finances once and then a second time simply out of boredom; he’d even finished Sleepy Hollow, which left him without the distraction to which he’d become accustomed. 

He’d done everything he could think to do, and he was now alone with his thoughts: the last place he wanted to be. 

Sweeney took a deep breath, nails digging into the arms of his chair as the lingering scent of Rose’s dinner invaded his nostrils, only adding to his already ravenous hunger. He glanced around the room in search of something, anything he could do, and his eyes fell to the empty bottle that sat on the vanity. Sweeney cursed; there was not but a drop of gin upstairs. Drinking would have shifted his focus at the very least. 

Perhaps I should go downstairs, his mind whispered, and he immediately pushed the thought away. It had returned within an instant, would it really be so bad? 

Yes. Yes it will. 

It might be fine. 

Mr. Johnson will be insufferable. 

Rose was so disappointed earlier, though. She’ll be pleased if you join them. 

What does that matter? 

It’ll make her smile. 

And? 

He winced as his aching stomach rumbled again. 

Alright, that’s it. 

Against his better judgment, Sweeney rose from his chair and made his way to the door, hesitating just before opening the door. It’ll be fine, he told himself, perhaps I can simply take a plate and bring it upstairs. He was hopeful, but he knew such a task would be nearly impossible once Mr. Johnson saw him. He supposed it wouldn’t kill him to simply sit there quietly; he could feign friendliness quite well, and at this point, it wasn’t a daunting enough task to keep him from getting something to eat. 

And it’ll make Rose happy. 

Feeling a bit nervous, Sweeney crept down the stairs, making as little noise as possible and praying they wouldn’t see him through the window. He stopped just outside the door, shivering and wondering if he should reconsider his choice, then just as he reached for the handle, the door swung open. 

“Mr. Todd! At last,” Mr. Johnson warbled. The old man stood just inside the door, grinning at Sweeney like a madman, “I’m so very glad to see you!” 

Damn it. 

Sweeney forced a smile, though it felt a bit more like a grimace, “Mr. Johnson. Nice to see you.” 

“Come out of the cold, my boy!” Mr. Johnson stepped aside, and Sweeney reluctantly entered, already regretting his decision to come down at all. His eyes fell to Rose, and she immediately brightened at the sight of him. 

“Mr. Todd! I thought you were still working,” Rose’s sparkling eyes were warm, her expression surprised yet quite pleased. 

“I just finished,” Sweeney replied, raising his eyebrows at her. He turned to Victoria, who sat at the right of the table. She was positioned sideways to make room for her belly, and she looked up at him quizzically. He bowed his head, “Victoria. Good to see you.” 

“And you, Mr. Todd,” she cocked an eyebrow, “Working late?” 

“Yes. Busy day.” 

“I see,” her brow furrowed, her lips curling upward into a smirk, “Tell me. What exactly does a barber have to work on if no customer is present?” 

Sweeney shot her a look, and her smirk grew to a knowing smile, “You should be in bed, you know,” he chided.

Victoria rolled her eyes, “Not this again. I won’t hear a word of it.”

“I told her the same thing, you know, but she wouldn’t listen,” Mr. Johnson chimed as he returned to his seat, scooting his way to the middle section of the bench.  

Sweeney opened his mouth to respond, but Rose spoke first, unintentionally saving him from further conversation. 

“I’ll fix you a plate, Mr. Todd,” she said softly, rising from the table, “Would anyone care for more? Potatoes? Stuffing? There is plenty.” 

Victoria patted her massive stomach, “No, thank you. I couldn’t eat another bite.”

“Oh, yes please!” Mr. Johnson chirped, “More of both.”  

“Here, Mr. Todd. You can take my seat,” Rose grabbed Mr. Johnson’s plate and gestured to the empty spot beside Mr. Johnson. Sweeney fought to keep from sighing as he took the seat beside him, ignoring Victoria’s watchful eyes and keeping his gaze fixed upon the table. 

Mr. Johnson leaned over toward him, forcing Sweeney to meet his gaze; his lips were curved in his usual cat-like smile, brown eyes squinting through his spectacles. Immediately uncomfortable, Sweeney tried to smile back, eyebrows shooting upward as he waited for the man to speak. 

Finally, Mr. Johnson wiggled his eyebrows, “Quite an excellent cook, isn’t she?” 

 “Miss Rose? Oh, yes.” 

“A lucky man you are to have someone who cooks like she does. A lucky man indeed.” 

Sweeney began to nod, then stopped himself, frowning slightly. He had long since grown tired of Mr. Johnson’s constant suggestion that he and Rose had something more than friendship between them. He knew the man had kind intentions, but Sweeney didn’t care; it was incredibly annoying, and they had already asked him to stop quite a few times.

“Oh, Father. Leave him alone,” Victoria voiced Sweeney’s own thoughts, and he cast her a grateful look. 

“What?” Mr. Johnson chortled, seeming genuinely surprised, “I’m merely stating the obvious.” 

Victoria shook her head, her eyes apologetic as they met Sweeney’s. Rose returned to the table and placed each of their plates in front of them. Sweeney felt his lips part, his jaw dropping at the sight of the steaming pile of delectable morsels before him: roast duck, so tender it looked as though it would fall apart at even a touch; potatoes, golden brown and slightly crisped; stuffing, which smelled of sage and spices, and a beautifully buttered roll. 

“Splendid! Thank you, Miss Rose,” Mr. Johnson smiled at her before delicately gathering a mouthful of potato onto his spoon. He chewed it slowly, letting out a low hum as he finished, “Divine. Absolutely divine.”

Unable to wait any longer, Sweeney popped a slice of the roast duck into his mouth and immediately felt himself melt. It was so good. Too good. He was suddenly filled with the urge to lift the plate to his mouth and shovel the rest of the food in as fast as he could, but he resisted. Sweeney glanced up to see six pairs of eyes trained on him, awaiting his reaction; he nodded at Rose, chewing rapidly and then swallowing, “It really is incredible.” 

Rose blushed, “You’re both too kind.” 

Sweeney looked to his left to see Mr. Johnson staring at him with the same teasing look as before, and he immediately shifted his gaze back to Rose, his eyes pleading. 

Her eyes flickered with understanding, and she returned to her feet, shaking her head,“Oh! I’ve forgotten drinks. My apologies. Would you like anything? Cider? Gin?” 

“Gin,” Sweeney blurted before he could stop himself, “Please,” he added quickly. 

Rose nodded and looked to Mr. Johnson, “And for you, sir?” 

“Oh, why not? I’ll have some gin as well!” 

“I’ll have cider,” Victoria smiled up at her, “Thank you, Rose.” 

She nodded at each of them, then turned toward the larter to fetch a bottle and some glasses, leaving Sweeney alone with the Johnsons once more. He remained fixated on his plate, avoiding eye contact with the both of them as much as possible and silently praying they might leave him alone. 

“So, Mr. Todd-” Mr. Johnson began, holding up one finger as he finished chewing. Sweeney stifled a sigh.

It’s going to be a long night. 

~

“No, no, no. You’ve got it all mixed up,” Sweeney struggled to catch his breath as he convulsed with laughter. He placed a hand on the old man’s shoulder as their hazy eyes met one another, “Try it again.” 

Mr. Johnson’s hand came up to grip Sweeney’s forearm, and he took several deep breaths to compose himself, struggling to keep a straight face. 

“I am a lad who a lad-” 

Sweeney barked a laugh, “No! I am a lad who alas- ” 

“Right, right! Who alas loves a lad-” 

Sweeney shook his shoulder gently, “He loves a lass. ‘I am a lad who alas loves a lass.’” 

“Alright, alright. I’ve got it this time,” Mr. Johnson closed his eyes and cleared his throat, taking a deep breath, “I am a lad who a lad loves a lad who a lad has a lad in Canterbury!” 

Sweeney stared at him for a moment, then his cheeks puffed up and a stream of air came spurting from his lips as he doubled over into the table in laughter. His face felt incredibly hot, his lungs screaming for air as his head grew fuzzy; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so hard. 

“That isn’t right is it?” Mr. Johnson slurred.

Sweeney looked up at him, tears streaming down his cheeks as he tried to form a sentence. Finally, he only shook his head. 

“I am a lass who alas loves a lass-” Sweeney shook his head more violently this time and Mr. Johnson joined him in laughing, throwing both his hands up in the air, “I give up!” 

The two men cackled, the only slightly-funny situation made hilarious by their continuous laughter. The muscles in Sweeney’s stomach begged for relief, his cheeks aching as they remained frozen in an uncontrollable grin. Finally, their laughter wound down, and a peaceful stillness settled over the table, though it did not last. In unison, Sweeney and Mr. Johnson looked up to see Rose and Victoria watching them, matching smiles on each of their faces. They looked from the women back to one another and immediately burst back into another wave of laughter.

“Oh, good heavens,” he heard Victoria say, which only made him laugh harder. 

It took several moments, but at last they regained control of themselves, each struggling to calm their breath. Sweeney was only vaguely aware when Victoria began to speak again, though he heard no part of what she said. His gaze had fallen instead to Rose. Her bright eyes were fixed upon him, soft and filled with… something; he couldn’t tell exactly what. Her cheeks were rosy, despite having had nothing to drink, and her smile was so sweet, so genuine. Her golden locks had been let down, sending soft, shimmering waves over her shoulders and down her back. Sweeney was certain it was only the alcohol, but it somehow felt as though time slowed. It was strange, but he felt… happy; truly happy, for the first time in… well, for the first time in fifteen years. It took him a moment to realize he was smiling at her, then he noticed that her blush had deepened, her expression now a bit flustered. Suddenly, she stood. 

“I’d best get these plates cleared,” she spoke quickly, her voice wavering slightly, “Thank you both so very much for joining us tonight. It’s been such a wonderful evening.” 

“It has!” Mr. Johnson loudly agreed, his words drawn out. 

“It’s been just lovely,” Victoria nodded, standing as well and lifting her plate. 

Rose moved to stop her, “Oh, here. Let me-” 

“Nonsense. I’ll not leave all this cleaning up to you alone,” Victoria swatted playfully at Rose’s hand, “Besides, I think these two are too far gone to help anyway.” 

Mr. Johnson hummed in agreement, then his expression became puzzled, his eyebrows pushing together, “Hmm?” 

“Nothing, Father,” Victoria laughed, picking up his plate as well. She and Rose gathered the rest of the dishes and utensils and moved back behind the counter as Mr. Johnson slumped forward on the table, his head resting heavily in his palm. The flesh of his cheek pushed upward, creating a slant in his face as his mouth fell open. He mumbled something unintelligible, and Sweeney leaned toward him to hear better. 

“What was that, sir?” 

“... wonder… Flying butter… hmmm…” 

Sweeney scowled as his drunken mind tried to piece together what he was saying, “What?” 

“Silly butterfly…” 

“Butterfly?” The old man was making no sense at all, “Mr. Johnson?” 

“William,” Mr. Johnson said, elongating each syllable, “Mr. Johnson is my father, you know. Just call me William.”

“Alright. William, then. What about a butterfly?” 

“What?” 

“What was that you said?” 

“What was what?” 

Sweeney finally sighed, shaking his head with a laugh, “Nothing, sir.”  

His mind felt fuzzy as he directed his attention toward the two women behind the counter, watching as they talked and laughed with one another. He couldn’t hear their conversation well, but it mattered little to him; he was content to simply sit and observe, like a fly on the wall. His eyes were trained on Rose as he heard Mr. Johnson- William begin to snore beside him. Sweeney allowed his eyes to roll closed as well, reveling in the darkness; it felt as though only a minute had passed, but when he opened them again, the clean up was finished and they had already returned to the table. Victoria sighed, shaking her head with a loving smile as she saw her father asleep on the table. She reached over and placed her hand over his, shaking it gently to rouse him. 

“Father, it’s time to go,” her voice was much softer than usual, “Come on. We’ve got to get you home.” He peered up at her, bleary eyed and smiling, then plopped his head back down onto his forearms. 

It took some doing, but Victoria finally managed to get William to stand, and the two gathered their belongings and made their way to the door. William thanked Rose profusely, repeating again and again that it had been one of the best meals he’d ever had, and each time, she told him she was happy to have had them over. Her patience was endless, and he admired that greatly about her. 

They made it to the door and bid one another good night, but just as they were about to exit, William straightened, pointing toward Sweeney and Rose, “One day, when the two of you are married, you’ll look back on this moment and think, ‘if only we’d listened to good old William sooner.’ Just you wait,” he waggled his finger at them, “I guarantee it.” With that, he shifted his weight back over to lean against Victoria, who gave them a small wave as she half-dragged her father out the door. 

The moment they were gone, Sweeney looked to Rose to find her eyeing him nervously. He shook his head with a laugh, and relief spread across her face as she joined him. Surprisingly, Sweeney could feel no trace of annoyance; he usually hated it when the old man joked like that, but this time, he found himself unbothered. His eyes met hers once more, and a thick silence fell between them; after a moment, Sweeney exhaled, puffing up his cheeks as he blew outward.  

“I’m sorry for earlier,” he began, his mouth moving faster than his mind could stop him, “I didn’t mean to put a damper on things.” 

“You didn’t, Mr. Todd. It’s quite alright.” 

“Christmas was Lucy’s favorite holiday too, you know,” he heard himself say. 

“Really?” 

“You two are so much alike,” Stop talking, Sweeney, “It’s uncanny.” 

Rose’s eyebrows moved upward, “Oh?” 

“She was so excited for Johanna’s first Christmas. I was too, but… it’s gone from me now. Lost. They took me away before the next one,” Why are you still talking?! “So I’ve always been… less fond of Christmas.” 

“I don’t blame you, sir,” Rose murmured, “I’m sure I’d feel the same way in such a situation.” 

Sweeney nodded, but he said nothing. He felt a bit dizzy; perhaps he was drunker than he’d previously thought. It was quite late, and he supposed the two of them should both be getting to bed, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave just yet. He wanted to sit and talk with her for a while, and he’d yet to even mention the fact that he’d finished her book. He opened his mouth to speak, but his words failed him and no sound came out. What was he to say? 

“I have something for you,” Rose’s voice interrupted his thoughts, excitement flickering in her eyes, “I’ll just be a moment.” Puzzled, Sweeney scowled, staring after her as she hurried into the parlor. 

She has something for me? 

She returned after a moment, beaming from ear to ear and clutching something behind her back, “I had intended to wait until Christmas, but… I want to give it to you now.” She brought her hands forward, revealing a small rectangular parcel, neatly wrapped in brown paper. 

He stared at it a moment in stunned disbelief, then his questioning gaze shifted back to Rose’s eyes. She nodded in encouragement, holding it out for him to take. He lifted it gently, turning it over and over in his hands before finally hooking his finger beneath one of the paper’s folds. He unwrapped it slowly, careful not to create any tears, and his eyes widened as he revealed what it was: a leather-bound journal, black as night and embellished with bits of metal. A large silver clasp held its cover together, and engraved delicately into the bottom-right corner were his initials: ST. His eyes roamed the journal’s beautiful surface, warmth filling his chest as he traced his fingers over the letters. 

“I-” he stammered, unable to form a full thought, “I haven’t gotten you anything.” 

Rose shook her head and waved her hand toward him as though to brush his words away, “That’s entirely alright, Mr. Todd.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“It’s alright! Please don’t worry,” Rose assured him, “I wanted to get this for you. I thought of you the moment I saw it.” 

Sweeney looked again at the journal and then back up to Rose, “I- It’s perfect. Thank you,” he inhaled in preparation to speak again, then closed his mouth once more, shaking his head, “Thank you. Th- thank you.” 

Rose’s smile was blinding, “Of course. I’m so glad you like it! But wait-” she quickly stepped behind the counter, and he followed her, standing on the opposite side, “There’s one more thing.” She ducked down for a moment, then popped back up to reveal a small tart, dark brown and topped with a plump raspberry. 

Sweeney’s eyes grew wide, “Chocolate?” 

“Chocolate,” she nodded, a proud smile curving her lips as she stepped back around to stand beside him, “I hope it came out alright. I had to create a new recipe for it. I sampled one myself and was fairly happy with it, so I hope you enjoy it.” 

Astonished, he stared at her for a moment, then he tucked the journal beneath his arm and took the tart from her, bringing it to his lips for a bite. The moment it entered his mouth, he felt as though he might burst into tears. He couldn’t keep the groan from escaping him as he threw his head back and leaned backward; it was quite possibly the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted. 

The tart was finished within seconds. He straightened, nodding in satisfaction as he looked back at Rose, whose smile had somehow grown even brighter. He grinned back at her, and her eyes widened, one hand coming upward to clamp over her mouth as a stream of giggles began to pour from her. He cocked his head. What would she be laughing about? Perhaps he had something on his face? 

All at once, he felt it: his teeth. His tongue came upward to press against them, and his answer was confirmed; they were indeed completely covered in chocolate. Mortified, he quickly covered his mouth, frantically licking to try and clear away the globs of brown that had settled between them. He dropped his hands, standing up straight once more, eyes wide and face nearly scarlet in embarrassment. 

“Let me see,” Rose said in between giggles. Sweeney shook his head rapidly, pressing his lips closed as tightly as he could and trying not to let his laughter force them open. His tongue skirted against the surface of his teeth again and again, but he could feel no difference, “Come on! Let me see,” she urged him. 

He cracked a tiny smile, and more laughter immediately erupted from her; they were no better than before. With an exasperated grunt, he turned around, using his sleeve to scrub them clean. When he was certain he’d removed all the chocolate, he faced her once again, “There. Better?” 

Rose’s head bobbed as she wiped a tear from her eye, fighting to catch her breath, “Yes. Much better.” 

Wiping his hands on his pants, he took the journal from beneath his arm. It had been so long since he received a gift of any kind, let alone one as nice as this. It was so thoughtful, so kind, and he found himself having trouble processing a proper reaction. He looked at Rose’s smiling face once more, and before he realized he was moving, his arms had extended toward her. 

What are you doing?! His mind panicked, but he pushed forward even so. His arms wrapped around her shoulders in an awkward embrace, the soft skin of her cheek brushing against the bristle of his sideburn. He felt her arms move upward to encircle his waist, and he nearly gasped at the contact, releasing her abruptly. She looked a bit startled, but she smiled nonetheless, and despite his discomfort, he smiled back. 

Perhaps it was only the warmth of the gin, but he felt as though he’d never realized just how beautiful she was. He took in each detail of her face, the fine lines that bordered her smile and crinkled the corners of her eyes, her icy blue eyes; the graceful arch of her eyebrows, and the curl of her mouth when she laughed. His eyes lingered there. The skin of her lips was pink and smooth, and he found himself wondering if they were as soft as they looked. 

Kiss her. 

Wait… 

What? 

Sweeney’s brow furrowed, and he froze, suddenly acutely aware that he had begun to lean toward her. Her face had flushed a deep shade of pink, and she looked incredibly nervous. 

What the bloody hell are you doing?

“It’s so late,” he said unexpectedly, “I should be getting to bed.” 

“Oh, yes. I should do the same,” she chuckled, her voice a bit shaky. 

“Thank you for tonight. For dinner, for the journal, and for… everything,” he backed away from her, stumbling slightly over his feet, then he felt his back hit the door, “Good night, Miss Rose,” casting a final half-smile toward her, he practically leapt out the door and into the cold. It was freezing, but he stood there for a moment regardless, trying to collect himself. His heart raced in his chest, his head feeling even lighter than before.

What just happened? 

What…? 

I can’t think of kissing her. I can’t do that. 

Of course, I can’t. I know that. 

I don’t even want to kiss her. I don’t want to kiss anyone. 

What would it be like? 

No!

Drawing a deep, shuddering breath inward, Sweeney started up the stairs, feeling a bit dizzy as his mind argued with itself. It was just the alcohol; of course, it was just the alcohol. That in combination with William’s suggestive glances and jokes had tricked his inebriated mind into thinking such thoughts. 

Yes, that was it. 

He was dizzy, after all. That helped prove it, didn’t it? 

Sweeney chuckled at himself as he stepped into his shop. He supposed it made sense. It was the first time in so many years that he felt truly happy, and alcohol was notorious for muddling minds. Exhaustion washing over him, he headed straight for his cot, longing to lie down. He removed his shoes as fast as his fumbling fingers would allow, then he laid back and drew the rough texture of his blanket over his shivering body. 

Of course he wasn’t really going to kiss her. That was ridiculous.  

What a strange evening it had been. Strange and unexpected, but… nice.  

The happiest Christmas in as long as he could remember.