Kid Gloves by Anna Martin Page A

wonder? Made my feelings too plain? Oh well, there is no changing them now, I have committed ink to paper. You should know, Finn, that I can think of not one thing that I would not do for you, please don’t forget that. Please hurry home to me.
    I am now, and always, yours.
    Dalton
     
     
    D ALTON ,
    News at last! The unit who will be taking over our duties here are on their way from London, our commander announced it this very morning. It is a journey of a few weeks, then we will have to formally hand over, then we can start our return journey.
    It will cause me untold pain to write this, but I must—please do not send me any more letters. I cannot be sure they will arrive, and it may put us both in danger if they fell into the wrong hands.
    There are so many things I am desperate to tell you, to return the words you have given to me and many more. Let me tell you them in person, Dalton? We are counting hours and minutes, now, not months and weeks. I know that six months have long since passed, and I am sorry that it has taken longer than anticipated for me to finish this mission and return to you. But be sure, I am coming. I’m coming home.
    I’m sorry that this letter is so short. We are pressed for time, trying to ensure all our work is done here before the next unit arrive. Please know that as soon as the commander releases me from duty I will not stop until I am home.
    I will see you soon. So soon.
    Your Finn
     
     
    T HE warmth in those summer evenings had just started to once again leech away, drawn into the darker evenings and lost among the stars. Layered in an extra coat, Finn walked the familiar cobbled bricks of Columbia Road, drawn down toward the little shop.
    There was no guarantee Dalton would be at the shop; he could have left to do one of a hundred different chores. Finn had hoped to make it before nightfall, but it had taken longer than he’d expected to stable and settle his horse before walking across the vast city.
    A light shone out through the still grimy windows, and a sigh made its way through each of Finn’s weary muscles. He pushed open the door, noticing how the light seemed to bounce off the clean copper and off into the night. Through the doorway to the workshop Dalton was hunched over something or other and looked up in irritation at the distraction.
    “Finn,” he breathed, his expression immediately lifting.
    Finn smiled, and the weight of the world rose from his shoulders. Less tired than he, Dalton leapt through to the shop and into Finn’s arms, and for a long while they simply clung to each other. Finn crept his hands under the fabric of Dalton’s shirt and molded them to the warm, soft leather underneath. It was a strange comfort, but a very real one.
    “How are you? How was the journey?” Dalton demanded when they finally drew apart. He kept one hand on Finn’s arm as he moved to shut and lock the door, extinguish the lamps, and settle the shop for the night.
    “I’m… I’m tired,” Finn said.
    “When did you sleep last?”
    Finn shook his head. “Days ago. I wanted to get back as soon as I could, they sent me on with food, the others are still on their way back. I need to go to a debrief….”
    “Later,” Dalton said firmly. “Not now.”
    “No. Not now.”
    Finn allowed himself to be led upstairs to where a fire was already crackling in the grate. He dropped his pack and started pulling at his clothes.
    “Are you hungry?”
    “No, I’ve eaten.” He hesitated before remembering it was okay for him to ask. “Could I take a bath? I don’t think I’ve had a hot bath for… a long time.”
    “Of course,” Dalton said, chuckling. “It won’t take long. The water’s already hot.”
    While Finn stripped out of his dirty clothes, Dalton set the tub before the fire and filled it with the hot water from the tank. His partner looked thin, Dalton decided as Finn lowered himself into the steaming water with a deep sigh. There was a bottle of rum in his cupboard