I turn back to him. “Go on.”
“We could build her a small stand. For the market. Something sturdy but nice. Slatted shelves for the buckets, maybe a little chalkboard sign.”
I picture it instantly. The proportions. The grain of the wood. Her hands brushing over it, eyes lighting up.
“Angled legs,” I say. “So it doesn’t sink into the grass.”
“And a lip along the back,” Jude adds. “Keep the arrangements from sliding.”
I grin. “That would work.”
“This is…” He trails off, then smiles softly. “This is nice.”
“It is,” I agree.
Footsteps pull my attention.
She appears first. She’s wearing one of Jude’s old T-shirts, long enough to brush her thighs. Her hair is damp, curling softly around her shoulders.
Her skin looks brighter, flushed in a way that has nothing to do with heat and everything to do with being cared for.
She looks rested.
She looks like she belongs.
Dorian follows her down, still in boxers, hair damp, hand resting at her lower back like it’s instinct now.
“Hey,” I say.
She smiles at me, eyes warm. “Everything smells so good.”
We sit. She shifts, trying to find a comfortable position, discomfort crossing her face.
I grab a pillow, tell her to stand, and slide it onto her chair. “Here.”
She looks at me like I just handed her the moon. “Thank you.”
I lean in and kiss her. I can’t help myself.
She lets out a little whimper.
“Sorry!” I say before pressing another quick kiss to her lips. When I pull back, she has a smile on her face.
Jude hands her a plate of food before passing another one to Dorian.
“Better?” Jude asks.
“Yes,” Norah says in between bites of her food. “This is so freaking good.”
She’s a lot hungrier than I expected.
Conversation drifts. The market. The mayor. The delay with the community hall. She asks, hesitant, if anyone in town knows where she’s been.
I smile. “Your truck’s been parked here for almost a week. And Wren’s running the shop. I’m pretty sure they at least have an inkling of where you have been.”
“It doesn’t help that even after that shower, you somehow still smell like us,” Jude says.
“And you’re covered in our marks, too. So, yes, sweetheart. They might have a clue,” Dorian adds.
