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“You’re the writer!” She flew from behind the counter and to the many shelves of romance books. I recognized my own spines, the pretty purple and pink stuffed side by side. “I’ve been hoping to meet you!”

“I’m Avery.” I held out my hand and she ignored it, squeezing me in a hug that cracked every bone in my body.

“Nadine. Oh, your books are divine. I’m in Moira’s book club. She already called to tell me you’d be there on Wednesday.”

“I just told her that five minutes ago,” I murmured in disbelief.

“Small towns,” Wolfe drawled. “News travels quickly.”

“There’s not much that stays a secret in Bracken Bay,” she said around a laugh. “Oh, I’m so pleased you’re here. Would you sign these for me?”

I blushed, but nodded all the same. Wolfe hovered by my shoulder, breath hot on my neck.

“Look at you thrive,” he said, voice low.

Nadine handed me a marker and I signed all the copies on the shelves and the few she kept in the back for a restock.

“Own it, Avery. This is your hard work. You should be proud,” he continued, watching me move from book to book. “Exquisite.”

I hid my blush from Nadine as best I could.

When I was done, I asked for her recommendations when it came to romance. She was more than happy to oblige, flicking from shelf to shelf and walking me through each title. Her enthusiasm was contagious and I soaked it in desperately. The way she spoke about her favorite characters and lines awoke something in me. There was a time I was like that, too. Gushing to anyone and everyone that would listen about my favorite books. The scenes that stuck with me, the emotions and endings that kept me up at night.

This was why I wrote—to make someone feel like this. To take them away. To make them happy. To share bits and pieces of my soul with them and have it be seen. I missed writing more terribly in that moment than I ever had. I felt lost, adrift, without a project consuming me from the inside out.

Even as I ached for it, nothing came.

I spun myself in circles thinking of plots and characters, but much like the wraiths on the cliff, they slipped through my fingers anytime they came too close. Wolfe told me not to worry, it would come when it was ready, and I bit down the questions I wanted to ask:

What if it didn’t?

What if I’d lost it for good?

Maybe tearing into Nadine’s suggestions would change that.

I left with six books, each cover more scandalous than the last.

The Scottish Duke, The Rogue Prince, The Rake That Loved Me.

Wolfe whistled low between his teeth. “I can’t wait to dig into these.” He tapped the cover of The Rake That Loved Me and the dress nearly torn to the woman’s navel. “We have to start here.”

I ignored him, thanking Nadine profusely for her time and all the recommendations. When I told her I couldn’t wait until Wednesday, I meant it. If just her enthusiasm alone was putting such a pep in my step, I couldn’t wait to speak to the rest of the ladies in the group.

I made one final stop before we hiked back to Kilmorran. I’d spotted the little jewelry store on the way down to the docks last week. It was tucked under an emerald green awning and had plenty of pretty things in the window. Wolfe followed me silently, his presence a weight against my back.

I walked the store, head bent over each case. I stopped by the row of Claddagh rings and smiled at the clerk.

“May I?”

“Of course.” He lifted the velvet tray out. “The Claddagh ring originated in Galway. Irish artisans added the heart and the crown to the Roman design of the clasped hands. The original ring was called a fede, and it was meant to represent faith.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Aye. The rings now symbolize romance, friendship, and loyalty. Are ye wantin’ one?”

“I think so.”

Wolfe leaned by the case, expression unreadable.