T/N: The chapter is not with a name. I think it’s still a side story, but I’ll leave it as the author put it.
“We need to put up Christmas decorations.”
With Mary’s nagging in his ears, Liam Moore blinked. Christmas? That was more than two weeks away. He wasn’t sure what expression he had on his face, but Miss Mary’s frown deepened as she raised her finger.
“Mr. Moore, if you keep living so stiffly and austerely, you’ll never, ever! get to hold a woman’s hand in your life!”
“Is that so, Miss Mary?”
His compliant response only emboldened Mary further. For the first month, she couldn’t even look him in the eye. Now, it seemed she had learned to boldly make demands.
“Clean up those beakers! Empty their contents! Even a witch wouldn’t live like this. Look at Hansel and Gretel’s candy house! Always keeping the windows closed and brewing suspicious concoctions is giving Miss Jane headaches! Are you really a detective?”
It’s medicine, he wanted to argue but held back, nodding his head instead.
“…I’ll reflect on that.”
Mary put her hands on her hips and lifted her chin.
“From now on, we’re decorating for Christmas. Hang some stockings, put up some fir branches.”
Fir branches. That brought back memories of Nifoisse Hall.
The sweet scent of cinnamon, the crackling of logs in the fireplace, and one of the few Christmases when his father’s acquaintances visited. They used to cut down a fir tree from the nearby forest and decorate it. Whatever they did to the tree, it remained green and fresh until the snow melted, as if it had taken root inside the house. There were days when he pondered when he could open the presents piled under the tree.
“Should I go chop down a fir tree?” he asked impulsively, smiling at the young lady who seemed to be tempted by the idea.
“Would Miss Jane like that?”
In truth, Liam Moore had no idea what Jane Osmond liked. Or perhaps he had never thought to ask. Thus, he couldn’t answer Mary’s question. He suddenly felt embarrassed.
Jane was always running to crime scenes, examining the most gruesomely deceased without flinching and catching the culprits. Her skills surpassed most investigators. Liam even shuddered when she deduced that the blood behind his ear wasn’t the victim’s.
The number of criminals caught thanks to Jane was considerable. Her keen eye for crime scenes was remarkable. Watching her attribute credit to others and stand aside as if she had done nothing was frustrating for Liam.
That was all he knew about Jane Osmond over the past two years.
But now, seeing a more varied side of her, Liam Moore felt a newfound courage to ask for the first time.
So… what do you like?
Your favorite color, food, song, book… people. He wanted to ask and know everything.
You are becoming clearer to me.
To him, Jane Osmond had always been like a watercolor painting. It wasn’t about her spirit; it was her face. Her impression was always vague, like watered-down paint, except when facing a case, where her green eyes gleamed like blades. Apart from that, she seemed to have no likes or dislikes.
Are we getting closer? Such naive hope began to rise.
＊ ＊ ＊
Liam found himself lingering near her, glancing at the book she was reading. Harrison Bow’s third edition of anatomy. Something for medical students. When he sat on the sofa, her attention turned to him—a vast improvement from the past when she ignored him.
“Interesting?” he asked.
“Just reading it. I don’t know much about this stuff,” she replied lazily.
No, you really do know. You seem like you learned this from somewhere.
“I didn’t realize memorizing bone names was this hard. I’m studying things I never imagined I would.”
“Oh, there’s no one more suited to college than you,” he teased.
She laughed, a sound like a bell that lingered in the room.
“I hate it. It feels like double majoring. You’d agree if you knew how awful my professor was.”
“What was he like?”
She leaned on his shoulder and whispered.
“Ten-page handwritten reports, every week.”
“I thought Jane Osmond was the icon of coolness, but it turns out you’re more diligent.”
She hit his thigh lightly. It didn’t hurt. Both she and Liam knew it would take more than that to cause him pain.
Liam exaggerated, tapping his leg childishly. If his father, Arthur Moore, saw this, he would doubt whether this frivolous person was really his son. But he did it because it smoothed the furrows on her brow.
She burst into laughter, gently rubbing his thigh, murmuring, “I didn’t hit you that hard.”
Of course, Liam wanted to explain that this gentle rubbing was more dangerous, but he held back, not wanting to be a cad. A gentleman shouldn’t make a lady uncomfortable.
“Jane, I’m curious about something.”
Her green eyes met his. He brushed aside a stray hair and asked.
“What do you like?”
Her smile faltered for a moment, perhaps from confusion. Or maybe not. She seemed unfamiliar as she pondered the question.
“Like?”
“Things like animals, food, colors.”
“I….”
After a long pause, she began to speak.
She liked black-furred cats, red and blue colors, didn’t have a favorite food, and was trying to appreciate London’s gloomy weather. Her tone was too objective, like she was talking about someone else.
Liam changed the subject.
“Black cats?”
He blinked, adding that people usually found them unlucky. She laughed, patting his head as if he were a child.
“Did I ever tell you that’s all because of Edgar Allan Poe?”
“Oh, the horror story’s influence must have been significant….”
“It’s just prejudice. They’re actually adorable.”
“If you say so.”
Liam shrugged. Somehow, her touch felt like she was petting an animal. But he never imagined she thought of him as a black cat, so he just lowered his gaze and enjoyed the petting.
Mary often scolded him, “Don’t smile like an idiot in front of Miss Jane.” But some things in life don’t go as planned.
For instance, seeing her green eyes curve into a smile. In those moments, he felt he had no control over himself. Like a train, his mind, which had faced many cursed beings without flinching, weakened only before those eyes.
At some point, she had become a top priority in his life.
The words he muttered during his reckless youth returned to mock him.
‘Didn’t you say you hated people? That it was foolish?’
His cheeks burned, probably because of the many logs in the fireplace. Or perhaps because she had discovered a past he should have buried and forgotten forever. Eternity isn’t far away.
“Little Moore,” she called. She sometimes used his old nickname to tease him, but Liam didn’t mind.
“Yes.”
“Your face is red.”
Why?
“Maybe because….”
Maybe it’s because he wanted to take her to his seaside hometown.
Liam Moore accepted the warmth spreading across his face and closed his eyes.
Alright, I admit it. Prioritising someone isn’t such a bad feeling.
AJNWFEJDNAJ!????? LIAM MOORE???? i was not expecting this much fluff after everything that happened in this last arc but i appreciate it very much so