He tightened his arms around her. "Take all the time you need," he said. "I'll be here."
23
CHLOE
She woke to the smell of coffee.
Chloe stretched beneath the quilts, her body pleasantly sore in ways that made her smile. Sunlight streamed through the window, casting golden squares across the bed, and somewhere downstairs she could hear Corin moving around.
She was in his house. In his bed. After spending the night wrapped in his arms, learning every inch of his body while he learned hers.
She found one of his flannel shirts draped over the chair and pulled it on, rolling the sleeves up past her wrists. It smelled like him. She buried her nose in the collar for a moment, breathing deep, before padding downstairs.
Corin stood at the stove, shirtless, his broad back to her as he flipped something in a pan. The bandage on his shoulder was fresh, changed sometime during the night or early morning. She watched him for a moment, drinking in the sight of him, before crossing to wrap her arms around his waist from behind.
"Morning."
He turned in her embrace, his hazelnut eyes warm as he looked down at her. "Morning yourself. Sleep okay?"
"Better than okay." She rose on her toes to kiss him, soft and unhurried. "What are you making?"
"Pancakes. With honey." He grinned. "My own, obviously."
"Obviously."
They ate breakfast at his kitchen table, their feet tangled together beneath it, trading easy conversation and comfortable silences. Chloe felt lighter than she had in weeks. Clearer. Like something that had been knotted inside her had finally loosened.
"I should check the orchard today," Corin said, pushing his empty plate aside. "See if anything's changed overnight."
"I'll come with you."
His expression softened. "You don't have to."
"I want to." She reached across the table and took his hand.
The smile he gave her was worth every wall she'd ever built.
They walked the orchard hand in hand, checking beds and hives, taking notes on which areas looked worse and which had stabilized. The damage was spreading, but slower than before. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.
"The north section's almost gone," Corin said quietly, crouching beside a row of dead seedlings. "But the beds near the barn are holding. I don't understand the pattern."
"Maybe the contamination is weaker the further it spreads from the source."
"Maybe." He stood, brushing dirt from his knees. "I need to check the apiaries."
The hives were arranged in neat rows at the eastern edge of the property, painted white boxes that hummed with activity even in winter. Corin moved between them with practiced ease, checking frames, noting which colonies looked strong and which were struggling.
Chloe hung back, watching. She'd learned early on that she made the bees nervous. Something about her druid blood, maybe. Or just the simple fact that she wasn't their keeper.
She was studying the tree line, trying to sense anything in the soil from this distance, when she heard Corin swear.
"What is it?"
He didn't answer. She hurried to his side and found him staring at one of the hives, his face pale.
The bees were dead.
Not struggling, not sluggish. Dead. Thousands of them, piled at the bottom of the hive like fallen soldiers. The frames were coated in something dark and sticky, a residue that smelled sharp and chemical.
