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She scoffs. “Why would I⁠—”

“If you don’t turn around right now,” I say, dry and patient, “I’m gonna enjoy this far more than is kind.”

She turns, slow and casual at first, like she’s humouring me.

Then she stills.

“He’s been standing there this whole time,” I add helpfully. “By the well. Talking to Robert.”

Róisín doesn’t answer.

Alex stands a little apart from the others, tall and loose-limbed, one arm braced easy against the stone. His hair, worn carelessly back from his face, catches the light. There’s something open about him, something that invites attention without demanding it.

Róisín swallows.

After a moment—long enough that I’m certain she’s forgotten herself—Alex shifts. He turns, scanning the yard without hurry, and then his gaze catches on the open kitchen window.

On her.

The change in his face is immediate.

His smile breaks wide and unguarded, bright enough it feels like it reaches clear across the space between them. Not polished or practiced. Just pure pleasure at the sight of her, as if the morning has improved by her mere existence.

He lifts a hand in an easy, half-formed wave, already stepping closer.

Róisín exhales, slow and stunned.

I lean back in my chair and allow myself a small, private smile.

“Told you,” I murmur.

She turns back to me, eyes wide and a little wild.

“Bloody hell,” she says under her breath. “My stomach’s gone all fluttery.”

I lift a brow.

“And,” she adds, entirely unapologetic, “I’ve an overwhelmin’ urge to climb him like a tree.”

I choke on a laugh and lean closer. “Hush,” I murmur. “Unless you want him hearin’ that, it’s best if you mind your tongue. He’s comin’ in here.”

Her head snaps toward the doorway.

“Oh,” she says faintly. Then, after a beat, her mouth curves. “Well. That’s unfortunate timing.”

“For you, maybe,” I say. “For me, it’s a mercy.”

Róisín smooths her hair with one quick pass of her hand, schooling her face into something almost respectable as footsteps sound on the stone outside. She casts me a sideways look, eyes still bright.

“Quick. How do I look?”

I glance her over, slow and honest. “Wonderful,” I say at once. “That dress suits you far too well.”

Her mouth quirks. “That’s vague.”

I lean in. “Yer figure looks dangerous,” I murmur. “And if he’s got eyes in his head, he’ll notice.”

She beams, pleased. “You mean my breasts⁠—”