When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine.
“Yes,” he says. “I’ll go on a date with you.”
“Good.”
“I’d say yes to anything you asked.”
“Even dishes?”
“Even dishes.”
I laugh again, and this time it comes out easier. Lighter. He kisses me once more, a quick press of lips, and then steps back.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask. “With all of this. With everything that’s changed.”
He looks at me. That same open expression. That same steadiness.
“I’m sure,” he says. “I’ve waited years to be back in your life, Caroline. I’m not going to let a few complications scare me off.”
“Complications. That’s one word for it.”
“It’s the only word that fits in mixed company.”
I grab the dish towel again and return to the counter. Griffin starts stacking the empty cups. From the living room, I can hear Amara’s soft snoring and Thistle’s continued purring.
“Griff?”
“Hmm?”
“I’m glad you came back.”
He pauses, a cup in each hand. Then he sets them down and comes over to me, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.
“Me too, sweetheart. Me too.”
Weather Talisman:
Carve into driftwood; storms bow to steady hearts.
Hearthlight Tavern is busy for a weeknight. I find a parking spot on the street and kill the engine, taking in the warm glow of the windows, the muffled sound of conversation and clinking glasses spilling out onto the sidewalk. The tavern looks the same as it always has—exposed brick, a hand-painted sign above the door, a planter box by the entrance that someone’s kept alive despite the storm.
“Popular place,” Silas says.
“Always has been. Gideon and Hunter bought it together about eight years ago. Before that, it was a hardware store.”
We walk inside. The warmth hits first, then the noise—a dozen conversations layered over each other, the clatter of dishes from the kitchen, someone playing something acoustic in the corner that I can’t quite place. The bar runs along the backwall, bottles lined up on shelves behind it, and every stool is taken.
I scan the room and spot April behind the bar. She’s pouring a draft for a customer, her red hair pulled back in a messy braid, a smear of something on her apron. She’s been working at Hearthlight since before Gideon bought the place. She knows everyone in this town, and everyone knows her.
We weave through the tables and I catch her eye. She finishes the pour, hands off the glass, and walks over to where we’re standing at the end of the bar.
“Damon.” She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Heard you’ve been busy.”
“You could say that.”
“And you brought a friend.” Her gaze moves to Silas. Up and down, quick and assessing. “Council?”
“Former,” Silas says.
