His fingers enclosed her wrist. She was frightened. Would he kill her? How could she have said something so stupid?
"Mr.T?" She whispered, "I'm so tired. Can I please go to bed now?"
"Not yet," he murmured. His grip was strong.
"What?" She turned to give him a look, but when she turned she found her face in his chest.
She could smell shaving cream and the unmistakable scent of blood on him. The stench was overpowering, intoxicating—she suddenly felt much more tired.
She opened her mouth to say something when he put his arms around her.
He did it very awkwardly, as though he had never touched a woman before. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to do with her hands—put them around his waist? Leave them at her sides?—so she merely placed them on his chest.
His face was buried in her hair.
Mrs. Lovett wasn't entirely certain of what was going on.
She was still confused when she felt his lips on her forehead.
She wasn't sure why he had done it—was it by accident? Was it because they were in extremely close proximity to each other?
It didn't matter, she realized. Either way, Mr. Todd had kissed her. Not anywhere romantically significant—just on her forehead.
But she didn't breathe for worry that the moment would pass and she would never feel his touch again.
When he pulled away, she couldn't help herself.
"Mr. T?" she asked.
"Shut up," he grumbled. He still held her wrist.
It was almost kindness, Mrs. Lovett thought. Sweeney Todd was being kind to her. In his own way, yes. In a strange way, definitely. But it was kindness nonetheless.
"I'm going to bed now," she murmured. He nodded curtly.
The door was open and shut in seconds and Mrs. Lovett was out in the cold again. It was funny—being in the cold didn't bother her as much now as it had before.
She wondered vaguely if it had anything to do with getting everything (or nearly everything) that had been bothering her off her chest. She still felt guilty about lying (though she maintained that she was doing it for his own good) and she still felt like an idiot for saying that she loved him, but nothing mattered as much because he had shown her some sort of emotion. "Affection" wasn't the right word.
Perhaps "tolerance" was better.
As she creaked down the rickety stairs to the pie shop, Mrs. Lovett could swear she heard Mr. Todd say something when he thought she was out of earshot, something that made her grin from ear to ear.
She entirely sure of what he had said, but it had sounded something like:"Come again anytime."