"It's getting late, don't you think, Reverend?" Charlisse stood by the window of the cottage, peering out into the murky shadows. Grabbing a wayward curl, she twisted it around her finger. She had spent the past three hours sitting by the warm stove, drinking tea and listening to Reverend Buchan talk about his adventures in the American British Colonies.
His stories fascinated her, and the more he spoke, the fonder she grew of him. Inner joy radiated from his eyes and the comforting peace that flowed all around him put her immediately at ease. She felt as if she'd known him all her life.
"I wouldn't be worrying, miss. Merrick can take care of himself." Yet his tone belied the flicker of anxiety that passed over his face. He fidgeted in his seat and offered her more tea.