Mullins paced his room in agitation, and he stoked the fire to keep life in it and get the rush of warmth on his hands, arm, face, and chest as he did. Earlier, he had received a message from Mary Sommers that Kate would come to his house some time after six when he was finished work. It was just gone seven now, and he was tired of waiting, his nervousness getting the best of him over and over again. He didn’t know why she was coming. He had said that he was going to try to kill the Dolocher; what did she want to say back to him?
Finally, the soft rapping he longed for came on the thick door, so faint that he could have missed it had the fire been crackling at all just then. He opened it quickly, and the cold whooshed in from outside. She stood there looking at him, and it took a moment for him to invite her in. He cursed his ineptitude with women; there was no wonder he didn’t have a wife.
“Sit by the fire and heat yourself,” he said, pulling a chair from the table to the fireside for her. She thanked him, and he nodded. “Do you want a drink?” he asked, and then wondered if there was anything he could give her if she said yes.
“Are you having one?”
“No.”
“Then I won’t, thank you.” They were silent a little while, and Mullins didn’t know what to do with his hands. He pulled a chair in front of himself and rested his hands on the back of it.
“I just wanted to come and say thank you in person for what you are doing,” she said hurriedly.
“You don’t have to do that, Miss,” he said.
“Please call me Kate. ‘Miss’ sounds terrible on me.” She laughed, and he could hear nervousness in her laugh that mirrored his own awkwardness. “You are doing a very brave thing,” she said.
He blushed and fiddled so much with the chair that he lifted it clear off the floor. “I’m doing this for revenge,” he said as he placed it back quietly on the ground.
“I was very sorry to hear about your friend,” she said softly.
“Well, he and you and Mary Sommers deserve to be avenged,” he said, and again he blushed, deeper this time.
She stood up as if to leave, and he saw that there were tears in her eyes.
“Don’t worry,” he said, “it will all be over soon.”
She rushed to him, threw her arms around him, and hugged hard. “Be careful,” she said, crying now. “Don’t get yourself killed.”
He put his arms around her small frame and hugged much more lightly than she had. “I won’t.”
She pulled back and as she did, she kissed him on the cheek, on the scar that ruined his face. He recoiled a little and let go of her.
“I’m sorry,” she said, seemingly not knowing how to go on.
“It’s ok. It’s just tender in the cold weather,” he lied.
She took his hand and looked at his eyes. “You don’t have to do this. I don’t want you to feel you have to.”
“I don’t feel I have to; I want to do this.” Her hand was warm and soft in his, and he wanted to squeeze it gently, but he didn’t dare.
“Don’t do anything tonight. I’ll come back tomorrow,” she said. “Will you promise me that?”
“Nothing tonight. I can do that,” he said, but he had no idea as to why she would want that.
When she left, he marvelled at the feel of his face along the scar, where she had put her lips on him. It had been so long since he had felt the sweetness of a kiss, and it consumed his evening until he fell asleep that night. He thought he could actually still feel the lingering trace of her on him, and he could smell her perfume on his skin. It was the nicest way he had fallen asleep that he could remember in his life.