Her breath came too fast, and a flush stole over her cheeks. Zechariah smiled and snatched a few heads of barley. What he really wanted to do was slip his arms around
her waist and pull her close, take her lips with his . . .
Her kiss would be innocent and sweet, with an undercurrent of eagerness. Those graceful arms would come about him, cling to him. Best of all, she would look at him with eyes
brimming with love.
“Zech?” Her voice shook, her gaze filled with question more than love. A hopeful question.
He tossed the barley into his mouth and, after munching it, gave her a grin. “Would you like to take a walk along the river this evening, Esther?”
Her lips parted. She blinked. “I . . . I would love to. I will ask my cousin’s permission when he gets home.”
“Good.” He trailed a finger through a lock of hair that escaped from her head covering.
She swallowed. “Zech . . . why?”
He chuckled and leaned down to kiss her forehead. How many times had he done that over the years? But never before had he so wanted to hover, to bend a little lower for
another, more satisfying kiss.
Taking his time with her may be the wise choice, but it would not be the easy one.
He made himself back away, enjoying the flash of mixed longing and disappointment in her eyes. She wanted him to kiss her—perhaps had dreamed of it. And when finally he
did, it would be worth the wait for both of them.
He smiled. “I need to get back to work. Thank you for helping Ima with the barley, Esther.”
“I do not mind.” She looked bemused, probably at his thanks for what she did all the time.
Good. That would ensure she thought of him as she went about her tasks, just as he would think of her. With a lifted hand in farewell, Zechariah went back to the wood shop.
Abba met him at the door. “I need you to handle a customer while I check on a piece of cypress. And tell him if he orders another monstrous bed, we will charge him twice
what we did last time.”
Bed? Zechariah’s throat went dry as he scanned the shop. Ruana’s husband stood in the corner, studying a mosaic. He had not seen the man since he first placed the order
for the frame. Certainly not since . . .
“Do not keep him waiting, Zech.” Abba spun around and headed out the front of the shop.
Zechariah cleared his throat and prayed he was not about to breathe his last. “Good afternoon, Asho.”
Asho looked up with a smile. No murderous intent gleamed in his eyes, but that may only mean he was subtle. “Zechariah, it is good to see you again.”
“Likewise.” He would rather have faced down a den of angry lions. “How can I help you today?”
Asho moved closer. Perhaps it was only to look at the chest his gaze latched on . . . or perhaps he wanted to be within reach so he could throttle him. “Actually, my wife
has a complaint about the last purchase she made.”
Was that a dagger on the man’s belt? “She has?”
“Mm.” Asho sounded amused. Which made no sense at all. “That your brother delivered it instead of you.”
“I . . .” Zechariah frowned and leaned into the work bench at his back. “I was busy.”
“Zechariah.” Asho dropped his voice low and took another step toward him. Still, his eyes reflected only friendliness, perhaps even teasing. Could he possibly be as
unconcerned as Ruana had claimed? “If you avoid her because you think I am upset by your . . . arrangement, let me assure you I have no problem, even though you are a Jew.
”
How was he supposed to greet that pronouncement? “That is not why I avoid her.”
Asho’s brows drew together. “Why then? Surely she pleased you, as often as you came.”
Fire settled in his face. He had thought—what? That the husband was oblivious? He ought to have known better. The servants knew he was there, and they would be loyal to
Asho before their new mistress. Not that he seemed to care, except to be upset on his wife’s behalf now.
What was wrong with these people?
“That is not it either. I . . . it was wrong, Asho. I never should have—the laws of my people strictly forbid—”
“Nonsense.” Asho brushed that away with a motion of his wrist. “She is very fond of you, and she has been distraught since you stopped coming. Please, will you not
reconsider?”
And now her husband begged him to keep making love to his wife? “It is not nonsense. Besides, I hope to marry soon myself, and I will remain true to my bride.”
Asho sighed. “She will be distressed at that news.”
“Then perhaps her husband ought to comfort her.”
The Persian lifted one superior brow. “I am afraid that is not the direction my tastes lie.” He swept a gaze over Zechariah that made his skin crawl.
He stepped to the side, well away from Asho and that terrible glint in his eye. “Do you have any business today, or just this ‘complaint’ from your wife?”
Asho’s eyes shuttered again, back to friendly ease. “A small chest, similar to that one. And deliver it yourself. I would see my wife smile again.”
Zechariah said nothing as the man strode from the shop.
*
Sardis, Lydia