For the first time in what felt like ages, I didn’t feel like a headmistress or a hedge witch or a woman trying to outrun a legacy carved in shadows.
I just felt like Maeve.
And that, oddly enough, was what I needed most.
The screen door creaked behind me.
I didn’t need to look to know who it was.
Keegan’s boots were unmistakable, somehow quiet and solid at once. He stepped onto the porch with the kind of presence that made space shift around him. The man had all the weight of a storm rolling in, but none of the chaos. Not unless he wanted it.
“Can’t sleep?” he asked. “I came in through the kitchen.”
I shook my head and gestured to the second rocking chair. “It’s quieter here. Feels like breathing again.”
He dropped into the chair beside me with a grunt, then leaned back with an easy stretch. “You needed a break.”
“I didn’t think I did,” I said. “But now that I’m here, I don’t know how I was standing upright.”
His gaze flicked toward the cottage windows. “Having them here must be… a lot.”
“It is,” I admitted. “But it’s good. It’s grounding. They’re a part of me that has nothing to do with prophecy or curses or accidentally reawakening ancient wards. Just love. And bad ski trips.”
He gave a small smile at that. “Celeste seems sharp. Observant.”
“Too observant,” I said, sipping my tea. “She’ll figure something out eventually.”
Keegan studied me in the moonlight, that unreadable expression of his settling across his features. “And what will you do when she does?”
I didn’t answer right away.
Because I didn’t know.
“I guess I’ll stop lying,” I said. “Or, trying to lie badly.”
He nodded once, like he already knew that’s where I’d land.
We rocked in silence for a while, the stars glinting through the trees, the mist curling just at the edge of the garden.
Then his voice came again, lower this time. More careful.
“You still thinking about him?”
I didn’t have to ask who.
“Yes,” I said honestly. “But not the way you think.”
Keegan turned to face me more fully. “I don’t trust him, Maeve. And I don’t like that he keeps surfacing in your path. It’s not by chance.”
I met his eyes. “He can’t charm me, Keegan.”
He arched a brow. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I said too quickly. Then added, “Probably.”
He gave a dry, humorless chuckle. “That’s not good enough. Not with someone like Gideon.”
I looked down at my hands, thumb tracing the rim of the teacup. “It’s not charm. It’s… curiosity. I want to understand what made him who he is. That’s not the same thing.”
