“Otherwise, yeah, I’m good with you guys being happy. Obviously.”
“Thanks.” She wraps me in an ecstatic side-hug.
At that moment, Rick finally looks from the horse to me. He’s got a way of smiling that mostly involves the upper half of his face, while his mouth barely curves. I love the creases that deepen at the corners of his eyes, the way his cheekbones become more pronounced, the sparkle in his gaze. He looks like a scruffy, surly, broad-shouldered cowboy who’s trying hard to be grouchy but can’t help letting the joy leak through his grim façade.
“I think he likes me.” Rick keeps his tone even, not raising his voice. He isn’t trained to deal with animals like this, but his instincts are serving him well.
“He absolutely likes you,” I confirm. “And I’m gonna warn you—now that you’re his person, Atreides is going to want to see you regularly.”
“Gives me an excuse to visit often.” The warmth in Rick’s gaze intensifies. “I’m not mad about that.”
Tess and I watch while Rick stands with Atreides, patting his nose or cheek occasionally, speaking a few words now and then in a deep, calming tone. The gelding relaxes more and more, the tension leaving his neck and shoulders. Eventually he lowers his head and starts nibbling the tufts of grass in the yard, mostly ignoring Rick. That perfect comfort, to the point of casual nonchalance, is exactly what I’ve been working toward with Atreides.
I motion for Rick to come out. Keeping each movement deliberate and unhurried, he climbs over the fence and drops to my side.
“How’d I do?” he asks in an undertone.
“You did so good. This is the first time he’s felt okay to come outside. It’s a huge step for him.”
“Glad I could help.”
He’s looking at me intently, and I’m turning into a human candle, cheeks flaming with mingled embarrassment and happiness, avoiding his direct gaze because if I look right at him, I think I’ll combust.
“Well…” Tess drags out the word dramatically. “I’m gonna go help Ashala with the rest of the chores. We need to exercise our other two new residents, and we’ve got a couple families coming in for rides today. So… busy, busy.”
She walks off, smirking, and I let out a nervous little giggle, after which I immediately want to sink into theground, because what sort of fearsome mythical water horsegigglesin front of her one-night stand?
“Wish I could stay,” Rick says. “But I’ve gotta get back to the diner. We’re preparing for the festival. We’ll be extra crowded when all the tourists come into town.”
“Oh. Right.”
“Your purse is in the kitchen, on the island,” he continues.
“Thanks. I’ll get it when I make coffee.”
He hesitates, and I can practically see his thoughts churning. “I can open the diner a little late this morning. Let me make the coffee.”
“I have a coffee-maker.” I frown, confused.
His smile widens a fraction. “Special coffee.”
“Oh. Um… I don’t know.”
“Marlowe.” His voice is a low rumble, soothing as a cat’s purr. “I came inside you. Surely you can trust me enough to try one of my drinks again.”
My face is blazing, and my voice is a mere whisper. “Okay. Fine.”
I lead him into the house and perch on a stool after showing him where things are.
“We don’t have many magical ingredients,” I warn him. “Just some phoenix eggshell powder that Ashala uses in her tea, and a bit of dried voisin’s wort in that cupboard above the sink. Might be one or two other things that people have given me over the years.”
“It’s fine. Certain ingredients make it easier to compose the drinks, but I can still do it without them. I’m the magic.” He throws me another crinkly-eyed smile, and I melt inside.
I’m so far gone already. I haven’t fallen for a guy this fast in a long time. No, scratch that—I haven’t felt quite like this about anyone, ever. My previous trysts were brief, and they meant nothing.
But this…thiscould be something.
Rick is wearing a rust-colored henley today, and he has the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing sinewy forearms. I watch his strong, veined hands as he makes the coffee, adds a bit of this and a little of that, murmurs words I can’t quite hear, and cups his hand over the mug. There’s a brief glow, the drink responding to his power, and then he pushes the cup toward me.
