Tom clears his throat. “I’ve been building a house on land my father gave me.”
My stomach plummets. If Tom is building a house, he must plan to share it with someone. Is that why he’s acting so strange? Why he’s been so distant? I think of two years ago, the locket he’d given me, the promise he’d made. Was that all for naught?
“Ye have?” I ask weakly.
Tom spreads out his calloused hands. “Yes. At the moment, I just have the box frame up with the second-floor overhang. I plan to add the lean-to at the back later, but I want to smooth out the interior first.”
I sip my beer and place the tankard on the small table between the straight-backed chairs.
“It sounds like ye’ve been busy.”
“Well, it’s time for me to marry—”
Marry?
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