Page 25 of 'Til All the Seas Run Dry

“Well, he said that the sooner I finished, the sooner I could come home.” Esther blushed over the rim of her mug.

“How is that going? Living together?” Jory asked.

Esther sighed. “We’re redecorating. We painted the doors blue as a first project. It makes the house look so different.”

“I love a blue door,” Jory said.

“Me too! And Hank’s going to redo the floors in the kitchen after Christmas and Yule. Then we’ll probably paint in there too.”

Jory remembered those floors vividly. She remembered how, though impeccably clean, she’d felt as if her feet had been stuck to them, like a mouse on a glue trap, when she’d seen Callum’s face for the first time after so long. She had so many questions about what had happened after she left, but she didn’t have the first idea how to ask, nor was she sure she really wanted the answers.

But she’d always been too curious. Wasn’t that how she’d ended up in this mess in the first place? Curious about a wounded man on the beach? About why her body felt like it was on fire when she lay next to him? Always, too damn curious.

“What else did I miss while I was away?” Jory found herself asking.

“I honestly don’t know. I’ve been so busy with the shop that I haven’t done much else. Hank’s been working at the motel, fixing things up for Alice. Magda’s stopped by a few times. And Nat’s got a new housemate. Niamh. He brought her to dinner at our house one night. You’ll like her. She’s—oh! That reminds me. I’m having a party next weekend for Yule. Super casual. Just a bonfire in the backyard and some snacks and drinks. Will you come?”

Esther hadn’t mentioned Callum—and she would have if he’d still been around. No doubt he’d gone back to Georgia. She’d expected to feel relieved by that information. She knew she should be, but that itchy feeling was back in her brain.

“Who all is coming?” Jory asked absently.

“Me and Hank, obviously. Magda and Jamie, Nat and Niamh. Maybe Buck? I told Buck and Jamie they could bring their kids. And you, I hope. It won’t be a big thing, but it should be fun. Hank’s building a firepit. I don’t know where he’s going to find the time, but he says to let him worry about that.”

Jory smiled at her friend. Hank would build her a city if she asked for it. She remembered being in love like that. She remembered beinglovedlike that. But as soon as that thought crossed her mind, she shut it down. Because shehadn’tbeen loved like that. It had all been a lie, hadn’t it? Even if it had been true, it had been expendable, just like her. Easily abandoned on a beach in the middle of the night.

“I’ll come,” Jory said, shaking herself back to the present and reaching for her stainless-steel water bottle. She drained it.Always so thirsty, lass.

A week later, Jory found herself wrapped in a wool blanket over her winter coat and sitting in an Adirondack chair next to Niamh and Esther in front of a stone firepit that Hank had, indeed, found time to build. It was beautiful and simple and well-made, and if that wasn’t also a description of its maker, Jory didn’t know what was.

Esther was talking about her Yule present from Hank, a tiny kitten named Hawkeye who was currently sound asleep in the pocket of Hank’s coat. Niamh had found the kittens and their mother in the small barn behind Nat’s house and brought them in. Mama had gone straight to the vet to be spayed, and Niamh was trying to find homes for the remaining three kittens. There were five in the litter, but Niamh had decided to keep the mother and a little tan kitten and named them Lucy and Ethel.

“Do you want one, Jory?” Niamh asked in her soft voice.

Jory laughed. “No, thank you. I love to visit cats, but I have no desire to live with one.”

Niamh smiled. “Fair enough. Nat isn’t a fan either. Says he doesn’t want to scoop the shite of a creature who watches him with disdain all the while he does it.”

Jory felt her smile crinkle her eyes and turned to look for Nat to ask him how he liked his new roommates when she saw a hulking form in the shadows, just beyond the glow of the fire. Esther must have seen it too, because she stopped talking and gripped Jory’s forearm tightly in her gloved hand. Niamh swiveled to look, and the combination of those actions was enough to catch the attention of Hank and Nat, who ambled over to the dark side of the yard.

Jory watched, her heart beating frantically. Hank stood with a wide stance, his arms crossed over his chest, but Nat slouched comfortably with his hands in his coat pockets. Her pulse hammered in her ears, drowning out the sound of the fire, Magda and Jamie laughing, Jamie’s sons’ tablets. After what must have been a mere minute or two, Hank turned and walked back toward the fire, trailed by Nat and—her heart lurched—Callum.

He looked different than he had in Hank’s kitchen weeks before. There, he’d been a brutal man in a dark, expensive suit that made his sharp edges look even sharper. But tonight, he wore jeans and a blue ski jacket. A wool hat covered his blonde hair except for the ends that stuck out the back at his collar. His jaw was relaxed, his walk easy, the long strides familiar as his strong legs brought him ever closer to the fire. To her.

Esther grabbed for her hand, holding it firmly. But Callum didn’t actually approach them. Instead, he followed Nat to the other side of the firepit, taking a cautious seat in an Adirondack chair next to the other vampire and accepting an amber bottle from a special cooler that was labeled with a strip of masking tape. He twisted the bottle open and put the metal cap in his coat pocket before clinking bottle necks with Nat, who said, “Sláinte.”

Jory glared at him, but if he noticed, he didn’t let on. He was too busy looking at Esther, a nervous expression on his face.

“I thought you went back to Georgia,” Esther said testily.

“Nay,” Callum replied, his voice quiet.

“Aren’t you needed at Sanguine?”

Callum took a small sip, his tongue darting out to lick the dark blood from his upper lip. “I dinnae think I’m truly needed anywhere. That’s what you get for hiring competent people.”

“Have you been here the whole time?”

Another sip. Another sweep of his tongue. Jory swallowed thickly. She knew the contours of that upper lip, knew the way it felt under her own tongue. She gripped her own beer loosely, deliberately so, knowing well that she could crush the glass in her fist if she wasn’t careful.