Raw Winter

Chapter 1: Her Mother

The little girl wore a blue dress made of very soft wool. It was blue and made by her mom. She didn't really care one way or another about blue or about dresses, but she loved her mom, so she loved the dress.

Her mom worked in a bakery. It wasn't big, and it wasn't the most famous bakery, but it was charming. It had little tables near the front window, and the sun coming through was cheery and warm. Her mother loved flowers and loved plants, and there was always something growing in pots on the counters and in front of the shop. She couldn't always keep the things she grew intact, but could always grow more. She never had to worry about them not having enough money to live by, and those who came to her shop loved her.

Winter hid behind the counter while her mom talked with a young man that had been coming around often lately. He wasn't quite young, and neither was her mom, but her mom didn't need to be young to be beautiful.

She was a bit soft and doughy, but Winter didn't think that was a problem. She wasn't, however, like this man. This man had sharp edges, a pistol on his hip, and a knife she didn't think was for cutting bread. She had to admit she wanted to touch it because it was intricate and pretty, and she thought she could even get away with it if she really wanted to. His eyes glued to her mom, and Winter considered the only thing redeemable about him was that he also thought her mom was beautiful.

As if the thought attracted his attention, the man looked at her. He had hungry eyes, sharp and grey. He was definitely not the kind of man she wanted around her mom.

"Who's this?" He asked, his voice rattling like a stone in a tin can. She could imagine it sounded smooth at one time.

"My daughter," her mom answered. "She's very helpful around the shop." She sounded proud, but also protective.

"Where's her da? He don't help you?" He asked with a grin, still watching her.

"Dead," she answered.

"Dead?" He said, looking back at her for a moment. "Must have been a handsome bloke."

"Dead; yes he was," she answered primly, giving him a tight smile.

"That's a shame," he answered. "What would you say to a man around the house? Someone to make sure the oven stays burning, missy?"

"I'd say we're doing fine," she answered, but she couldn't keep a grin off her face. "Honestly, Daverel. We're doing fine here. It's good to have a friend like you, but I don't think I'm interested in dating anyone. Certainly not someone like you."

"What? A pirate?" He scoffed, grinning at her.

"A proprietor of the sea," she shot back. He couldn't help but laugh. It was a line that he had fed her earlier. She found herself laughing with him. Winter reassured herself that her mom didn't actually like him.

"Maybe I'm thinking of settling down," he answered. "Maybe I really love you."

"You love nothing but money," she answered, and it sounded more like a fact than judgement coming from her.

His eyes narrowed, and he scowled. "Darling, maybe you're right, but I would never hurt you."

She wore a pained smile as she replied, "I can only trust you, can't I?"

"How can you trust someone who only cares about money?" He asked as if trying to throw it back in her face.

"I can't," she answered, unshaken and unphased. "Not until you prove it to me."

"Then I'll prove it to you," he answered. "In the name of the Red Liar, I'll prove it to you."

"Swearing by your ship? Not a lucky thing to do with a name like that," she answered. Her hands were busy wrapping a slice of sweet bread. She gave it over to him.