He had served. He had watched. He had endured.
Silas looked up at the blazing window, forced himself to turn and walk back to Solstice Springs, his chest heavy with melancholy. He could handle melancholy, but he hated that it was suddenly tinged with envy.
* * *
Dane’s fingers danced down her spine, and Wren turned her face into his shoulder, dropping a faint kiss onto his hot skin. She felt relaxed, a little floaty, something similar to the way she did after a long dance session, on those days when her routine finally clicked, when it made complete sense.
He made sense. Something in her, a lot of things in her, clicked with him.
Scared at the direction of her thoughts, she turned away, rolling onto her side, his arm under her neck. Dane rolled with her, his big body spooning hers, his hand on her stomach, holding her into him. She felt, and heard, his breath deepen, and she knew he was close to sleep. That was okay. She needed a little silence, some quiet time to sort out her thoughts.
She’d always been attracted to artistic guys, mouthy guys, men who weren’t afraid to talk, and talk, and talk. But Dane was stoically quiet, someone who listened more than he spoke. She wasn’t afraid to say anything to him, somehow sensing he wouldn’t judge her. And his calm, his steadiness, steadied her.
She wanted to keep talking to him, keep soaking in his solidity for as long as … God, for the longest time.
She tensed, and Dane, perfectly in tune with her, tightened his hold. He kissed her head, mumbled a sleepy “Relax,” and his breath evened out. He’d slipped back into sleep.
How could she relax when she was in imminent danger of sliding, maybe not into love, but something a lot more than like?
Wren bit down hard on her bottom lip, thinking she should get up, leave his bed, and walk back to Luna’s. A late-night walk through H-Town, something she hadn’t done since she was a kid, would relax her, would give her clarity. While she walked, she could talk herself out of turning one night—it wasn’t even a night yet, it was still an encounter!—with Dane into something it wasn’t. It was still only a one-time fling. It might become a summer fling. At best. Nothing more…
She would not make the same mistakes she had with Alex; she would not imagine more than was there.
This was sex—great sex,fabuloussex, potentially best-in-her-life sex—but because he was a reasonable, rational adult, he wouldn’t consider airports or weekend visits or any kind of “what next.” When their time together ended, he’d move on to the next chapter of his life, bright and shiny and waiting for him, and maybe—maybe—he’d occasionally remember the dancer he’d had a fling with.
The one never destined to be anything more.
Then why couldn’t she be rational and reasonable? Why did her heart ache for more? How could she so easily imagine many nights falling asleep in his arms after fabulous sex, waking up to coffee, and Dane’s face being the last image in her brain at the end of a long day?
Wren rolled over and looked at him, so much younger in sleep. She touched his jaw, ran her hand, so gently, through the stubble on his jaw. Counted his thick eyelashes and the freckle just below his ear. The dent in his sexy lower lip.
Just once, just this one time, she wanted to give herself the gift of falling asleep with her face in his neck, her arm around his waist, sharing the same air. Moving into him, she smiled when he lifted his face to allow her to settle beneath his ear, both arms coming around, so naturally, to pull her into him. He patted her butt.
“Sleep now, I’ll be here when you wake up.”
Thinking that sounded like an excellent plan—she’d corral her rebellious and hopeful heart in the morning—Wren closed her eyes and drifted off.
ChapterThirteen
Two weeks later, Wren stood on the bank of the lake, unable to believe that it was mid-July and that H-Town was halfway through its Summerween program. Luna was being Luna—demanding and bossy, but getting shit done—her teenagers were getting the hang of her routine, and spending time with Dane, in bed and out, was simply amazing.
The residents had had a minor break from the Summerween chaos and busyness last weekend, but this weekend was second only to the celebration on Lammas Eve in crazy, and it felt like most of the East Coast had descended on H-Town to attend the lake-based Boos and Bash costume party. Another, possibly even bigger drawcard, was the Witches and Warlocks Paddleboard Parade later.
The sun was about to fall behind the trees, tossing ribbons of molten gold over the already dark lake. Boats, rafts, inflatables, canoes, paddleboards—anything that could float—drifted lazily on the water, most decorated with fairy lights, candles, and lanterns. Colored laser beams shot from the bank, while watermelon jack-o’-lanterns grinned like lunatics atop polystyrene rafts, glowing from the tea candles within.
A witch, a black cat stuffie toy tied to the front of her kayak, paddled past, calling hello. Wren didn’t recognize the person beneath the green makeup and oversized hooked nose.
“Are you taking part in the parade?” Wren asked her.
“It’s a little-known fact that members of the coven have a terrible sense of direction, so I’m one of the marshals to make sure they don’t end up down the lake,” she cheerfully replied, and gestured to her green face. “Got to look the part, you know.”
Of course, she did; it was part of H-Town’s code. Wait, hold on, she knew that voice. “Marigold? Is that you?”
“I’m not only good at making coffee, Wren dear.”
The bank, where food trucks fed the hungry and watered the thirsty, heaved with people. Luna, dressed as a zombie, and a few of her Summerween Festival committee members wandered around with clipboards, trying to decide the winners in the various categories, which included the Best Costume and Best Floatable categories. Everyone else, residents and tourists, were half-drunk, half-dressed, and having the absolute time of their lives.
Hayes’s raft, a collection of logs bound together by rope, bobbed a little way offshore. Hayes and Thom had built it when they were in their early teens, helped by Poppy’s grandad, and as a group, they’d spent many summer days and nights hanging out on that raft. It was lovely that it was still being used.
