As they approached they approached the farmhouse, Michelle felt Danny abruptly stop, take a deep breath, and pull his shoulder from its place, leaning upon her own. "I can do it."
A small tremor made its way through her body. "I know."
He pushed open the door, and Miss Froy descended upon them. "Did you see Top Withens? Isn't it so ROMANTIC?..."
With more energy than most people a quarter of her age, Miss Froy steered them to a worn but handsomely polished wooden kitchen table, and placed two cups of steaming tea in front of them. "... I always say, you cannot properly visit Haworth without a good hike to Top Withens. It's a bit chilly this time of year, but you do get the true spirit of the moors, and it's been rather nice this weekend, much nicer than usual. Did the sheep treat you well? Sometimes, they don't take kindly to strangers. But nice couple like you..."
Her hand covered his own, and he felt rather than saw her gaze over his face.
"... You just need a good cuppa tea to take away the chill today. My own special blend... I don't drink anything else... A million Mexicans drink it... at least that's what it says on the package....
He resisted the immense urge to meet the comfort of her eyes, instead staring into the murky depths of the inky tea.
An ancient, manual telephone rang, and Miss Froy whirled to answer it. "Hallo! Iris,... Iris, I can't understand you...What, what, of course I'll be right down. Oh, wait a moment...." she covered the speaker of the telephone with her hand... "I must run into town for the evening, old Mr. Gilbert fell and needs to be driven to the hospital, and Iris-his wife-doesn't drive. Will you be all right?"
"Of course," replied Michelle before Danny could open his mouth. "We'll be fine."
"Well, all right then," she uncovered the telephone speaker. "Iris, Iris, calm yourself. I'll be right there."
Hanging, up the phone, Miss Froy jammed a perky, feathered hat upon her head, gathered up a purse and an umbrella, and headed out the door. "There's a chicken, some things for salad.... Bread's in the breadbox... mmmm... I should be back late tonight. Don't wait up."
And with that she was out the door.
He was eyeing the books on the shelf, searching for a phonebook, and trying to remember if pizza places delivered in England, when he realized that Michelle was standing in front of the open refrigerator, surveying its contents.
"Michelle," he trod very carefully. "What are you doing?"
She chewed her lip absently. "I'm seeing what's in the refrigerator."
He knew the question was loaded.
"Why?"
She turned, puzzled.
"I'm going to cook."