Her mouth twitched. The almost-smile became a real one, slow and warm, spreading across her face in the starlight. She leaned forward and kissed him, gentle this time, her lips soft on his, her hand still flat on his chest over his heart.
Through the bond, he felt her feel him feeling that kiss. The warmth of it. The rightness. The particular relief of a man who'd spent fifteen years on the water believing the river was enough, only to find out the river had been taking him somewhere all along.
She pulled back and looked at him with those changed eyes. "Take me home."
He gathered her against him. She wrapped around him the way she always did, legs locked, arms tight. He stood, and thefact that they were both half-naked on a rock by a lake in the middle of the night with a fresh mating mark bleeding on her neck and his seed still warm between her thighs was the most absurdly, perfectly real thing that had ever happened to him.
36
ISLA
Diana had called it an end-of-storm-season party, which fooled absolutely no one.
The inn's back terrace had been strung with lanterns from the eaves to the garden fence. Tables ran the length of the terrace, covered in linen that Diana had pressed herself because she trusted no one else with her good cloth. Wildflowers from the meadow sat in mason jars at every third place setting. The smell of roasted lamb drifted from the kitchen where someone, probably Twyla's niece, was arguing with the oven.
"It's not about you," Diana had said two weeks ago, standing in Isla's kitchen with a clipboard and the particular brightness in her eyes that meant she'd already made up her mind. "It's a community event. Seasonal tradition. The town needs something to celebrate after the spring we've had."
"Diana."
"The fact that you happen to be the reason the town survived the spring is purely coincidental."
"You're a terrible liar."
"I'm an excellent hostess. Don't confuse the two."
Isla had agreed because Diana's warmth was the kind that didn't accept refusal gracefully, and because three months had passed since the night on the shoreline, and in those three months, something had changed in Hollow Oak that she hadn't expected. The town had stopped watching her with caution. It hadn't happened overnight. There was no single moment where tolerance became acceptance. But the woman who'd stood in the square redirecting lightning during the worst storm of the spring, who'd shown up the next morning to help Rowan clear debris from the drainage channels, who'd spent the weeks after working the lakeside erosion markers, monitoring pressure systems for the fishing boats, advising Corwen's office on weather patterns for the trade routes, that woman had earned something the girl who arrived a year ago never thought she'd have.
A place. In the middle of it, instead of circling the edges.
Maeve arrived first, which was not a surprise. She came through the inn's side door carrying two cases of ale from the Silver Fang, her short black hair sharp against the warm light, her expression communicating that she was here under protest and that everyone should be grateful.
"Where do these go?" she asked Diana.
"Bar table near the garden wall."
"That's too far from the food."
"Maeve."
"I'm just saying, if you want people to drink, you put the drinks where the people are."
Dante appeared behind her carrying a third case seeming to know that the fastest way through any disagreement with Maeve was to be useful and quiet. He set the case on the bar table near the garden wall without comment.
"Fine," she said. "But when everybody crowds the food table and ignores the ale, I'm blaming you."
"Blame accepted.” He smiled as she swatted him.
Corin came through the garden gate at half past six with Chloe beside him, both of them carrying trays. Honey cakes, golden and dense, arranged in neat rows on wooden boards. Chloe had a second tray of something that smelled like rosemary and butter. They set them on the long table and Corin looked at the lanterns, the linen, the flowers, then at Isla where she stood near the terrace rail.
"Nice party," he said.
"Diana's party."
"Right." He picked up a honey cake and ate it. Chloe elbowed him.
Rowan arrived with his crew, freshly washed, which was notable because Isla had seen him covered in caulking compound that morning finishing the last of the dock repairs. The eastern mooring had been rebuilt from the pilings up over the last two months, new timber, new hardware, the work done by Rowan's hands with Rafe's crew assisting on the water-side installations. It was finished as of this afternoon. The dock was stronger than it had been before the storm that started everything.
Diana moved through the growing crowd, managing twelve conversations, three courses, and a difficult oven simultaneously. Twyla sat at the end of the long table with Lira beside her, both of them enjoying a celebratory drink over the usual tea.
