You guys continue to blow me away with all the support you've given this story. I also wanted to know I read every single one of your comments and I love hearing from you guys! This chapter is a little shorter than the last, but from this point forward the story begins to expand. I hope you enjoy.

- Hawkfrost

There's something odd about this woman. The thought came to him like a tendril of smoke. Gently wrapping itself around his brain until he could no longer ignore it. He had seen the reaction Mr. Whitman had when she returned to the bar but he simply chalked it up to the general jitters people had towards officers. But here, having her before him he couldn't shake the feeling that there was another layer to her he wasn't seeing. He studied her carefully, the way her eyes seemed to flit around the room every so often, the way she gripped her knife, the way the sun made her hair glow, how full her lips-, he mentally shook his head. Damnit boy, concentrate. He took a deep breath and refocused his mind. He concentrated on the circle of the face. The eyes, the bridge of the nose, the mouth, and the forehead.

These were useful in identifying someone accurately. It's used became these features can't really be changed or altered. So why does she look so familiar? He racked his brain trying to figure it out, she said it was because he had seen her around town, but that didn't feel right. A memory was hovering in the recesses of his mind, skirting the edge of cognizant. Yes…something to do…with the forest? The thought slipped away before he could latch onto it. He looked at her now, hoping her presence might jog more of his memory, but his thought collapsed as surely was wooden house would during an earthquake. Her smile was angelic, filling him with an intense burst of happiness and warmth. It purged all other thoughts from his mind.

"For the life of me, I can't remember what it was." He smiled into his drink and looked resumed eating.

He couldn't have seen the almost imperceptible sag of relief that Astrid had done. She placed her knife down and straightened her dress to hide the fact her hands were shaking. Once she was sure her appendages were again under control of her brain, she resumed eating as well.

"So major, you know a little about me? Tell me, how does your wife bear your prolonged absences?"

He gave her that crooked smile again and swallowed before answering.

"Quite well I would imagine, considering I'm not married." He wiggled his eyebrows at her in a way that caused her to snort in laughter. A snort. An honest to God snort. Where did that come from? Which she quickly covered up by clearing her throat.

"Really? I would've expected such a ravishing gentleman such as yourself to be betrothed or married by now."

He leaned back in his chair and sipped at his cup of tea. He seemed completely at ease as if he had all the time in the world for her.

"When I marry, I want it to be to a woman I can love until the day my heart stops. To marry a woman who's smile burns away the days' fatigue, whose laughter I pause to listen to. Capturing it like a priceless recording."

Astrid's attention was rapturous now. The way he described this mystery woman was like nothing she'd ever heard. Especially not in the company she kept.

"Until I find that woman, I shall remain single. I've seen to many people suffering in marriages that are nothing more than official agreements. No love, no passion, no joy. I cant imagine a worse punishment than that. An eternity of pain." With a shrug, he sipped his cup and placed it down.

"And you, no suitors in your life?" He gave her a smile that was doing very unladylike things to her thoughts.

She smirked at him, it was quite a good smirk if she said so herself. He agreed, or at least parts of him agreed. He had to shift in his seat slightly to get comfortable again.

"No. Or rather, none that I deemed worth my while. Besides, it's not like people are tripping over themselves to marry an orphan with no prospects. Least of an orphaned girl."

He frowned at her, "I shouldn't think anyone would think of you so."

It was the way he said it that gave her pause, it was such a gentle comment. He wasn't simply being polite when he said it, he really meant that. Somehow their hands touched. His lying over hers, gently drawing circles with his thumb. The warmth that flooded her body sent tingles all the way to her toes. His hand was warm and calloused. They were the hands of a man who had earned what he had through strength and determination, through a lifetime of hard work. But here, now, he was going out of his way to be gentle, going out of his way not to intimidate her. That struck her as so kind, that she couldn't help but smile at him.

They continued to gaze at each other, the seconds seeming to ebb and flow into an eternity. She looked into his green eyes and saw herself. She could be happy with this man. Mother his children, be a proper English lady, have a house in the countryside with servants attending to her every need. She could stop being lonely, having a husband who would love her, both physically and emotionally. She could see it all unfolding in the vibrant flecks of his eyes.

A lovely idea, but one that could never be. The thought landed through her consciousness like a knife through flesh. She knew the voice was right, agreed with it even, but she didn't want it to be, at least, not right now. Stop it. Stop. It. You know this will never work. End this, now. With a supreme effort of will, she let go of the fantasy and of him.

"Thank you for your hospitality kind sir. But I really must be getting back to work."

Her voice was stilted and lacking the warmth it had held only a few short minutes earlier. He noticed, for his eyes filled with a pain that caused her gut to wrench violently of its own accord, and guilt that she knew better to feel, flooded her being. And then, it was gone; so quickly she almost doubted it had been there. His face relaxed and he withdrew his arm with nothing more than a brief exhale.

He drained his cup and stared into it for a few seconds, pondering something. Reaching his conclusions, he placed the cup done and looked at her. All traces of sadness gone, in fact, there didn't seem to be much of anything in his eyes now.

"Of course m'lady. I wouldn't want to overstay my welcome. My sincere compliments to your chef, Mr. Whitman, and his most beautiful waitress." She flinched.

His voice was so dispassionately polite, so formal. He spoke as if he were talking about the weather with a stranger. And for some reason she hated it; she also hated this man for making her hate it. He laid down a few bills, rose, grabbed his book, nodded at her and Mr. Whitman in a most gentlemanly fashion, and left; leaving her wanting him to stay.