Page 57 of 'Til All the Seas Run Dry

He thrust the paper sack at her. His fingernails were painted the color of a raven’s wing, black sliding easily to green and then violet in the bright glow of the overhead lights.

“I like your nail polish,” she said, taking the bag.

A smile stretched wide across his face, a giddy smile, as if he’d been hoping she would say that.

“What’s in the bag?”

“Look for yourself.”

She pulled the handles apart and saw a bottle of nail polish—expensive nail polish—that matched Robbie’s along with a small, square, white box. She pulled the nail polish out of the bag and set it on the counter, noting that the plastic seal had been removed.

“I see you sampled it.” Jory smirked.

Robbie shrugged, looking nervous again, which was so unlike how he’d been at the cabin. “I saw it and it reminded me of you and, well, I dunno. I wanted to make sure I was right.”

Jory bit back a smile. She remembered the ravens that crowed down at her from the trees while she hiked from the parking lot to the cliffs, the forest largely silent except for their chatter. The raven sent to find land. The raven that heralded change. Death. Fortune. The ravens that saw all, that she had once courted so many years ago in Scotland, leaving out little bits of food in a special spot and being rewarded with trinkets and scraps of fabric or string.

“It’s perfect,” she said softly, and Robbie’s shoulders almost collapsed with how quickly they relaxed. “What else is in here?”

She pulled out the box and lifted the lid, revealing a small frosted-glass bottle with a stopper that had been made to look like antique bronze. The cream paper label saidFanaidhin a beautiful, looping script.

Robbie cleared his throat. “Boss—Cal is always talking about how much he misses certain smells from home. Finding a perfume that smells like heather wasn’t easy. But this is made by a small perfumery in Scotland from local heather flowers, and I just thought that if he misses that smell, that you might too.”

Jory pulled the stopper off with a shaky hand and pressed down to mist a single pump of the fragrance into the air. The smell of heather was almost earthy, almost herby, almost floral, and yet somehow none of those things at the same time. It was as familiar to her as the smell of rain or saltwater or dirt.

She had filled their mattress with heather, gathering armfuls and drying them in the rafters before stuffing the bedding, relishing the way that the flowers gave off their fragrance anytime either she or Callum had turned in their sleep, or moved at all. The way the scent mingled with the almost tangy, almost salty, almost earthy smells of sex.

Jory closed her eyes and breathed deeply, letting the scent fill her nostrils. When she opened her eyes again, she found Robbie looking at her with a soft smile.

“Can I pay you?” Jory croaked. Because what else could she say?

“It’s a gift,” he scoffed. “A gift for a friend.”

Friend.

Another friend. Esther and Magda had been her only friends for quite some time. And some days, Magda was less a friend than she was the eccentric old aunt that knew entirely too much about her and had no shame in letting her know that. But Robbie looked so earnest, so hopeful, and yet so anxious in front of her just now. As if he expected her to say no. Maybe she should.

It was all so goddamn complicated, wasn’t it? She was leaving. She planned to broach the subject with Esther tonight, in fact. To talk to her about taking over the store, leaving it to her entirely in every way. Esther would be devastated to hear it. Magda would be… who could say? Could she hurt yet another friend when she left?

“I wanna be your friend, Jory,” Robbie said. “Not get married.”

A sudden laugh burst from Jory’s lips as Robbie stopped her rabbit-holing, as Callum had once called it.

“I won’t be here long, Robbie.”

Robbie shrugged noncommittally, as if he didn’t believe her. Or maybe he just didn’t care. Maybe he collected friends like utensils, setting them aside when he moved on to something else. Maybe?—

“You’re doing that thing again,” he said.

“What thing?” Jory replied, shaking herself.

“That thing where I can almost see smoke pouring out of your ears from thinking too hard and gettin’ way too far down the road. Come on,” he said, toeing off his boots. “I’ll paint your nails.”

She nodded and followed him into the living room. He sat easily on the floor, placing the bottle of nail polish on the coffee table and patting it with his tattooed hand. Jory sank down to sit cross-legged across the table from him. He reached out without hesitation and took one of her hands in his, examining the nails.

“So,” Jory said, “do you know where he’s taking me tonight?”

“Yep.”