Keegan.
He’d just exited the inn, hands in his pockets, looking rumpled in that annoyingly attractive way he had, like the windtried to flirt with him on the way out the door. When he spotted us, his eyes lit with something warm and steady.
He jogged across the street with an ease that made Skye pause mid-sentence.
“Wow,” she whispered to me. “Is that...?”
“Yes,” I muttered. “That’s Keegan.”
“He looks even better in the daylight.” Skye wiggled her brows.
“Don’t tell him. He doesn’t need it going to his head.”
Keegan slowed as he reached us, casting a grin toward Skye and Celeste. “Morning, ladies.”
Celeste blinked. “Morning.”
“Celeste wants to go see Nova, but I was worried her shop is closed.”
Keegan arched a brow, amused, but clearly catching my worry. “Last I checked, she’s closed up until later. She’s wandering the river path right now.”
Celeste looked disappointed.
“But maybe later?” I asked my daughter, who looked happier to hear that.
“Let’s head over to Luna’s,” I said quickly, guiding us toward the cozy storefront with its blue-painted door and cheerful hanging baskets bursting with violets and creeping thyme.
“I’ll walk with you,” Keegan offered, slipping easily into step beside me.
Celeste glanced at me sideways. “Weren’t you making me a scarf?”
I smiled, grateful for the shift. “Still am.”
She narrowed her eyes. “It’s been, like, three months.”
“You can’t rush perfection,” I said sweetly. “Besides, it’s going to be spectacular. You’ll see.”
We stepped inside Luna’s shop and were immediately wrapped in the scent of wool and rosewater, the comforting murmur of soft music, and the rainbow blur of yarn skeins lining every shelf and corner.
“Wow,” Celeste breathed. “It’s like walking into a cloud that went to art school.”
Luna popped up from behind the counter, her arms full of yarn and her hair in a swooping bun pinned with knitting needles. “Maeve! And guests! I see you found your mom’s cottage.”
Celeste looked around, wide-eyed, already reaching out to touch a shelf of pale lilac yarn. But just as she did, her gaze shifted and locked on something more profound in the room.
A sweater.
Knitting itself.
It floated midair, needles clicking rhythmically, yarn unraveling from a ball that rolled slightly as the work progressed.
Celeste stared.
Then blinked.
“Did that...”
I shot Luna a look.
