Page 9 of Dance in the Stones

Damon’s whole face lit up with a smile. “Brilliant. Come on. We’re doing it now. I’m not giving you a chance to change your mind. Grab your things and let’s get back where it’s warm.”

It took less than ten minutes to pack as Redford hadn’t bought much. Damon waited patiently, then led the way across the dark courtyard to the cottage. The interior glowed with firelight and warmth, and Redford felt something in his chest unclench as he stepped inside.

Home, his gargoyle whispered.

Not yet, Redford thought, but maybe soon…someday. Provided he didn’t completely fuck things up in the meantime.

Chapter Five

“Your shower is amazing.”

Damon looked up from where he was crouched in front of the fireplace, adding another log. Redford stood in the hallway, wearing fresh jeans and a dark Henley, his hair still damp from the shower, and Damon’s hound made a pleased rumble at the sight.

“Better than the caravan?”

“Miles better.” Redford ran a hand through his hair. “I’d forgotten what proper water pressure felt like.”

“Yes, well, I can’t have my landlord complaining about the accommodations.” Damon stood, brushing his hands on his jeans. “There were extra towels in the cupboard if you need more.”

“I found them. Thanks.” Redford moved into the kitchen area, looking around. The cottage was small but comfortable, and the stone walls kept it cozy despite the Highland wind outside. “This is a good space.”

“It suits me.” Damon watched Redford explore. It felt surreal having someone else in his sanctuary, someone who wasn’t pack. But instead of the intrusion he’d expected to feel, it felt…right, like Redford belonged here. Which was a bit weird considering they really didn’t know each other.

“Are you hungry?” Damon headed for the kitchen. “I was about to make something.”

“Starving, actually.” Redford followed. “What were you thinking?”

“I’ll cook us some eggs.”

What followed was an awkward dance around the small kitchen as they both tried to navigate the space. Damon reached for the pan at the same moment Redford went for the coffee maker. They collided, Redford’s hand landed on Damon’s lower back to steady them both, and the touch sent electricity straight through Damon’s spine.

“Sorry,” Redford said, not moving his hand immediately.

“No worries,” Damon’s voice was so gruff it was almost a growl. “The kitchen’s a bit tight for two.”

“I’ll handle coffee if you cook?”

“Deal.” They separated, but the awareness didn’t fade. Damon pulled eggs and bacon from the fridge, hyperconscious of Redford moving behind him.

The cottage quickly filled with the smell of brewing coffee and sizzling bacon. Damon’s hound settled into a contented rumble. This. Want this. Mine.

“Not yours,” Damon muttered under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” Damon laughed. “You should be used to me talking to myself by now. It comes from spending a lot of time alone out here.” He cracked eggs into the pan. “How do you like your eggs?”

“However you’re making them is fine.”

Damon scrambled them with cheese and herbs, plated everything, and turned to find Redford setting two mugs on the small table. When Damon took a sip, he froze. The coffee was exactly how he liked it – strong - although it also had two sugars and a splash of milk. He rarely drank it that way, although it was his preference when he was out. But he hadn’t told Redford that. He hadn’t even made coffee in front of him before. “How did you...?”

Redford looked up from his own mug. “How did I what?”

“The coffee. It’s perfect. How did you know how I take it?”

Surprise flickered across Redford’s face, or maybe it was a realization. “Isn’t milk and two a coffee standard…so, lucky guess I guess?” It didn’t sound like a question, more like Redford was testing the words.

Damon studied him, but Redford’s expression was carefully neutral again. “It was a good guess, although black and strong is just as easy.” Damon sat down across from him. “Thanks.”