Page 37 of Memories of the Lost

Basking in the comfortable familiarity of her own bed, with the delicious surprise of a naked man next to her, his leg against hers, his hand flung over her hip. In the darkness, she saw that he was utterly asleep, like a child, and was pierced clear through.

In the reassurance of his company, she curled into her pillow, tucking her body closer to his, and fell back to sleep. This time, there were no dreams.

A tickle brushed her nose. She swiped at it, but it came back. She dreamed it was a butterfly and reached for the iridescent colors. A girl was with her, the cat girl, and she said, “Let’s go back to the woods!”

A soft voice penetrated the dream. “Tillie. Til-lie.”

At last, she surfaced, blinking at the light pouring into the studio. Liam was leaning on his elbow next to her, and she saw that he was freshly showered, and dressed. “Oh no! Are you leaving already? You should have woken me up. I would have made you some breakfast.”

His smile was gentle as he swept hair off her forehead. “Nah. You were sound asleep, and it’s early yet. I have a thing and have to get back to the hotel, but you don’t have to see me out. I just wanted to say goodbye.”

She reached up and pulled him into her, kissing him, reveling in the crisp cotton under her bare arms. He met the kiss; then her stomach growled. Loudly.

“That’s romantic.” She laughed.

“Everything about you is romantic.”

“Don’t get too corny, or I won’t believe a word you say.”

The lines along his eyes crinkled. “All right, you crass bitch.”

“Maybe something in between.”

He touched her cheek. “Can I come back tonight?”

She nodded. “Text me.”

“It’ll be around late afternoon. What if I take you somewhere fancy for dinner?”

“I’m down with that.”

“Good.” He glanced at his watch, stood. “Is there a luxurious vegetarian you like?”

“Dude. It’s New York City. Of course there is.”

He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “Make a reservation for after six, and I’ll meet you back here.”

“Okay.” She sat up to watch him go. At the door, he blew her a kiss, and she laughed, but as the door closed, she thought,How the hell did this magic fall into my life?

“Get real,” she told herself, getting up to start the day. It wasn’t magic. It wasn’t some fairy tale. He was leaving in two days, and she would never see him again. Passions born during trips abroad never lasted.

But she could enjoy it for now.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Wulfecombe

To help bring in the funds it took to keep the house running, Clare had started a small farm. The learning curve had been tremendous. She’d been raised in town and didn’t know a turnip from a cabbage, but the land had always been rich in these fields, and it made sense to at least try to fund the repairs by reviving the farm.

The first years, she’d been wretchedly unsuccessful. The cabbages went in too late and bolted before they matured; she’d lost all the chickens to a raid by a fox, then faced one of the hottest summers in a decade, which burned all but the sturdiest plants. She’d had a marvelous crop of tomatoes, however, and she’d been lucky to grow some heirlooms that set them apart, so she sold those gold, deep-red, and enormous purple-black-red varieties to a handful of restaurants.

It wasn’t enough to even cover the cost of the garden, but it gave her hope. Before the next season, she and seven-year-old Sage had learned some carpentry skills and built a better shelter for the chickens, then made charts of when to plant what and how to rotate them for the highest number of yields. With the profits, she built two long greenhouses and put peas in early, and started other green crops for the restaurants, providing them with a wide array of salad greens for their high-end dishes.

It was never her main source of income, but she had found healing and hope in digging, in tending the little flock of hens, in fresh air and hard work. It saved her sanity at a time when life had seemed very dark indeed.

This morning, she collected a basket of peas, saving the best for Sage and keeping the rest for the gathering on Sunday. A pale-colored cat wandered through the aisles, seeking her attention, and she bent down to give him a pat. “You’re looking pleased with yourself,” she said. “Been out policing the mice?”

He meowed, twirling his tail about her knee. His eyes were blue and ever so slightly crossed, the legacy of a bunch of cats in the area. She’d had several of his line over the years. In fact, she’d met Levi when one of them had developed an abscessed paw, and Sage couldn’t stop wailing over him. Levi didn’t ordinarily bother much with house pets, but he’d taken pity on the sorrowful little girl, drained the abscess, and given the cat an antibiotic. The next day, he came around asking Clare if she wanted to go for a tea.