Cormac’s fingers closed around hers, warm and steady.
Nothing else happened.
No nausea. No creeping dread.
The quiet certainty of his hand holding hers.
Before she could lose her nerve, Aoife leaned forward and kissed him.
It was soft at first, and when she drew back, his eyes were bright.
“I missed you,” she said.
She kissed him again.
This time his arms came around her, pulling her close until their bodies pressed together. The warmth of him seeped through the layers of cloth between them, familiar and strange all at once.
His hand slid to the small of her back.
For a heartbeat, her breath caught.
Halverton had held her there.
The memory flashed through her like cold water.
Aoife shifted his hand gently higher, guiding it without breaking the kiss.
She let herself forget everything else.
***
The next morning they lay tangled on the floor of the hothouse, the air heavy with the scent of earth and green things. Light fell through the glass in pale gold strips, warming her skin where it touched.
Aoife traced her fingers over the scars on his back, gentle and reverent.
Cormac stirred beneath her touch. He shifted, turned his head, hair mussed and damp with sweat, sticking slightly to his temple.
“Next time,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep, “we should find a bed.”
A soft laugh escaped her before she could stop it.
“Probably wise.”
He blinked up at her, still half-lost to sleep, and for a moment there was no guard in him at all.
The words rose in her throat, sudden and undeniable.
“I love you,” she said.
The words slipped free before she could think to swallow them.
Cormac stilled, then smiled.
“I love you too.”
Aoife gasped.
It was as though something tore loose deep in her chest. The pain came fast and fierce, stealing the air from her lungs.
