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I smiled and brushed my thumb along her cheek.

“I’d like that very much.”

She looked pleased with herself as we turned toward the parking area.

***

The cottage was quiet when we returned, its windows glowing warmly against the dark woods. Peyton unlocked the door and switched on the living room lamp while I hung our coats near the entrance.

The fire had burned down to a few faintly glowing embers, leaving a pleasant warmth in the room. A knitted throw lay across the back of the sofa, and the little kitchen beyond was tidy except for the mug she’d left beside the sink.

Peyton slipped off her boots and set them near the door. I removed mine as well, then followed her into the kitchen while she poured us each a glass of water.

She’d taken off her scarf, and the soft cream-colored top beneath her coat showed the delicate curve of her shoulders. Her hair clip had loosened during the evening, leaving a few strands against her cheek.

I wanted to touch her, and apparently she had much the same idea.

She set her glass on the counter and moved toward me, resting her hands against my chest.

“I’ve been thinking about kissing you again since we left the festival.”

“Then I think we ought to do something about that.”

She smiled and drew me down toward her.

The kiss was slow and sweet, with no festival crowd around us and no work waiting. I rested my hands at her waist, enjoying the feel of her fingers moving over my shoulders as she stepped closer.

When she finally drew back, she looked toward the hallway.

“There’s something I’d like to check before we go any further.”

I followed her gaze.

“The recording equipment?”

She nodded.

“I shut everything down before you arrived tonight, but I’d like to be certain nothing’s active. I know how important your privacy is, and I don’t want there to be any possibility of recording something personal.”

I appreciated that she’d thought of it herself.

We went down the short hallway to the carpeted back bedroom, where her portable acoustic panels stood around the microphone and workstation. The laptop was closed, the recording interface dark, and the equipment power switched off. She checked that no remote session or recording was active, then confirmed that neither of our phones was capturing or transmitting anything.

“All clear,” she said.

“Thanks, Peyton. I know you take your work seriously, and I appreciate you being careful about this.”

She looked up at me, her expression warm.

“I should’ve been more careful the first time I heard your voice. I’m not going to make that mistake again.”

I caught her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“I believe you.”

We returned to the living room, leaving our phones on the kitchen counter where mine would still be audible if Crosscut needed me for a genuine emergency.

Peyton settled beside me on the sofa, tucking one leg beneath herself as she turned toward me. The lamplight caught the gold frames of her glasses, and her dark hair brushed her cheek when she moved closer.