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His brows lift.

“I’m resting,” I say innocently.

Ezra sits beside me, close enough that our shoulders touch. His body is fully solid, the sun catching the fine hairs along his forearm. He stretches his hand out, turning it in the light.

“Still here,” I say softly.

“So far.”

I nudge his shoulder with mine. “Right now counts.”

He looks at me, and the playfulness that usually saves him from being seen takes a breath. “Yes, it does.”

The quiet between us feels full.

I take his hand. This time I don’t study it first. I simply hold him. Ezra’s fingers tighten around mine.

“I wanted you last night,” I say, because he needs to hear it and I need to say it while the heat is only a low hum beneath my skin. “It wasn’t just because you were solid and I’m curious. I wanted you.”

His throat works. “Pepper.”

“I also wanted Theo. I still do. I’m still very interested in the stone, the connection to water, and why your body responds to me, but that isn’t the same want.”

His smile appears slowly, fragile in a way that makes it dearer. “You make very organized declarations.”

“I brought a notebook to my first heat. Are you surprised?”

“True.”

My gaze catches on a brass plaque fixed to the inside rail near his knee, half hidden beneath a curl of vine. Tarnish darkens the edges, but the letters remain legible.

J. Vines 1898 — For the road home.

I lean closer.

Ezra follows my gaze. “That’s been there longer than Theo’s had the house.”

“J. Vines.”

“Mean something?”

“I don’t know, but how strange. My last name is Vines.” I run my thumb near the plaque without touching the metal. “Road home is interesting phrasing.”

“It’s a gazebo. Maybe they got lost.”

I give him a look.

He lifts our joined hands. “I withdraw my contribution.”

Theo comes down from the back porch carrying a tray big enough for three people and one dramatic appetite. Steam rises from bowls of creamy grits streaked with melted cheese.

There are eggs too, sausage patties, sliced peaches, coffee, and my water bottle beaded with condensation, ice clicking softly inside when Theo sets down the tray.

My hands clap together before I can stop them. Theo pauses.

“You made grits.”

“Yes.”