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Poppy pumped her head up and down. “’E explained everythin’. That day I shared me feelin’s with ’im on the beach?” Morvoren nodded before Poppy continued. “’E said ’e was afraid o’ hurtin’ I. But ’e says right ’ere…” She paused, finding the line before reading it aloud to Morvoren. “‘I could not share my feelin’s for ye, but when ye turn a year or two older, I ’ope to be able to tell ye just exactly ’ow I feel for ye. Wait for me, if ye wish to. For I’ll be thinkin’ of ye each day until I return.’”

She stopped, holding the letter to her chest and staring up at the sky with an airy sigh. “Ye see? And now I be seventeen, so I just be one step closer to sharin’ ’is love.”

Morvoren smiled, shaking her head. Months ago, she’d given Poppy the advice to behave in a way that she’d never have regrets. And now, it seemed Poppy was doing just that.

“I be that ’appy for ye, Popp,” Morvoren said. “Now to wait ’til his ship returns.”

“Oh, I know. I can’ ’ardly fathom waitin’ a day longer. I just…” Her words trailed off as she stared down at the letter again, clearly becoming distracted by his words.

“Poppy?”

She looked up in surprise, then a sheepish grin took hold of her features. “I be sorry. I just can’t concentrate on anythin’ right now.” She glanced beyond Morvoren’s shoulder. “Oh, me brother be waitin’ for ye still. Can we talk about it later?” She backed away, squealing again. “Oh, I just be so ’appy!”

Then she bounded back to the house, as if she were a four-year-old skipping to a tune instead of the grown young woman she was growing into.

Morvoren watched her for a moment, shaking her head in amusement before moving to catch up with her husband. Together, they continued down the pathway to the beach. The sea thrift were once again in blossom across the cliffside, waves of their small pink flowers quivering in the wind.

“What be all that about?” Trevik asked once she reached his side.

“Oh, nothin’ really. Just Lieutenant Harris writin’ to Poppy.”

His brows lowered. “And what did ’e ’ave to say for ’imself?”

Morvoren knew Poppy wouldn’t care if she shared the news with Trevik. In fact, she often told Morvoren to talk to her brother about matters she knew would upset him.

So with a certain degree of delicacy, she responded. “’E as good as shared the fact that ’e ’as feelin’s for ’er, too.”

They neared the water, but instead of Trevik admiring the beach, he looked down at Morvoren with a frown. “I don’t like that.”

She laughed. “Why not?”

“’Cause ’e be tied to the sea, that be why. Men can’t easily leave such a thing behind…or women, for that matter.”

She let him stew for a moment, his silence continuing until they neared the small rowboat they’d secured near the top of the beach.

“Come now, Trev,” she said as his scowl remained. “Don’t let this ruin our outin’ together.”

His frown grew. She smiled, holding his face between her hands and kissing him soundly. When she tried to pull back, his hand snaked through her hair and held her securely in place until she laughed, and their lips broke apart.

“It worked,” she said. “Ye ain’t frownin’ any longer.”

He smiled, leaning forward to kiss her again, but she swooped out of the way. “First, we need to get this boat into the water.”

He sighed. “Ye know just what to do to get your way.”

“What else do ye expect from a siren?” She winked, then she helped him heave the boat into the water.

Their conversation centered around their plans for the summer as they hopped into the rowboat and paddled out to the sea, then they both fell silent once they were surrounded by nothing but water, the land far behind them.

“Are ye ready?” she asked.

Trevik nodded, securing the oars and dropping the small anchor into the water before they both undressed—Morvoren to her shift and Trevik to his trousers. Then together, they jumped into the calm, steady sea.

Long ago, when Morvoren had been a child, she’d made a promise to herself that if she were to ever marry, she’d only do so if she could find a husband who’d allow her to still swim in the sea.

Well, not only had she found herself a husband who allowed it—she’d found one who encouraged it, one who joined her every moment he could. And she couldn’t be more grateful.

She still couldn’t believe how perfect her life had been since leaving St. Ives and her uncle behind. Despite her best fears, Uncle had remained away from Tristwick, and the last word she’d heard of him was that he’d taken his company back to Mevagissey—much to Morvoren’s relief.