Only fifteen days had passed since Jude last laid eyes on Ánhaga, yet he felt like a completely different man from the half-formed figure who’d left. He used to imagine turning his back on it entirely, with mouth bitter and teeth gritted. He’d picture how he’d slam the iron gate and stride away with the wind at his heels and freedom in his lungs. Never, ever to return.
Yet, here he was. Returning. Andexcitedlyat that.Not a dog to its whip-wielding master, but a migratory bird returning to its nest after a long winter.
Not alone, but with her.
Maeve’s shoulder brushed his, softly at first, then harder, purposeful. Jude caught the edge of her smile before she tucked it into the red wool of her scarf.
‘Thoughts?’ she asked as Jude pushed open the gate.
He stepped aside to let her through first. ‘About?’
‘Coming home.’
He cast his gaze over her head. The house stood tall and imposing, the windows impossibly dark. Ivy grew up in reaching tendrils that spread like fingers over the curve of the front door. Frost clung to the meagre path snaking towards the house, crunching underfoot. He smiled.
Home.
The first place he went was the kitchen.
‘Really?’ Maeve’s voice was thick with laughter. ‘Thisis your priority?’
‘It’s all I could think about,’ he grumbled, dumping out the contents of the cutlery drawer onto the counter. Spoons, knives, and forks went everywhere with a metallic rattle. He arranged the divider back in the drawer and neatly replaced the cutlery in their assigned section. No more of Elden’s seemingly random toss of knives and teaspoons together. He was putting his foot down.
Maeve came up behind him, resting her hands on his hips and notching her chin over his shoulder. ‘I thought the kitchen would be my domain now that it’s only the two of us. Since I’ve never actually seen you cook.’
‘Very funny. We can share. If you respect the sanctity of the space, of course.’
‘Naturally.’
She laid her cheek between his shoulder blades. Her breath warmed his skin through his thin jumper, trailing goosebumps across the word etched into his skin. Jude closed his eyes. He could stay here forever, basking in the warmth of her, a haven of peace.
His stomach grumbled.
Maeve laughed, pulling back. ‘Toast?’
Soon, they were seated in front of the merrily burning fire in the front room, eating fresh bread Maeve’s sister Una had made them for their journey, honey dripping down the thick crusts. Their teacups sat on the scuffed floor with handles slotted together. Besides Elden, only Olive was missing from the happy picture. He’d go collect her from Bethan’s tomorrow.
Warmth from the fire stole over his face. Outside, a light pattering of rain traced rivulets down the window. He tracked a figuration of birds streaking across the blanket of clouds, outstretched wings curving into points against the wind. Perhaps the library would tell him what a dozen birds signified. Maybe he’d just ask Felix.
Jude set his half-eaten toast on top of his mug to warm. ‘It’s strange having nothing to do. No looming presence or shadowy task to complete.’ Maeve quirked a brow, and he sighed. ‘I’m happy for it, of course… but it is odd. Like I need to learn to relax.’
‘I’m sure you’ll find something to occupy your time. Vegetables and the like. Maybe knitting.’ She chuckled, angling her head to catch a trail of honey sliding down her wrist. Jude drew one knee close to his chest. His stomach clenched.
Well. There wasonething they could do.
They’d only had the one night together, burned forever in his memory. He didn’t think anything could erase how she tasted. His only regret was their severe lack of alone time since leaving Elden’s. After they’d found Maeve’s family, they’d stayed a little over a week at Una and her husband’s house, sleeping on the two sofas in the small house’s main room. Not exactly conducive to continuing his study of Maeve and her sighs.
But now… they were alone. His bedroom was only a few floors up. Too far, really.
Why didn’t he place a bed here, next to the fire? He wanted to see how the orange flame gilded her skin and drew out the spun gold of her hair, the emerald lurking in her eyes. His fingers ached to reach for her. He knew she at least somewhat enjoyed herself last time, but would she welcome his touch again? Did she look at him andwant, as he did her?
Jude was going mad with desire. Just to be known by her. Seen, touched.
He took an unsteady sip of tea. The honey lingered on his tongue. Sweet, so sweet. He couldn’t look at her lest she see the naked desire on his face. He didn’t want to frighten her with its force.
A soft touch on his wrist. A fine tremble to her fingers. He looked up.
Her eyes were dark, lips parted and damp. ‘Let’s go upstairs.’
