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“If you need anything,” Tommy said under his breath, “let me know.”

“She won’t be needing anything from you, dear,” Moira said, snatching Avery’s arm. “Just worry about yourself.”

Tommy nodded, shooting Avery an apologetic look before scurrying from the kitchen. The door between the two rooms closed and then it was just Wolfe and the rest of the book club trapped in the warmth of the kitchen.

“Avery, come meet the girls. You already know Nadine and Isadora.”

Wolfe clocked each of them, eyes narrowed. Their smiles were warm and welcoming. He was glad to see it. This was a leap for Avery, a step into uncharted waters. He resigned that if they weren’t kind to her, he would take to haunting the place and scaring them all within an inch of their lives.

“This here is Lisette, she runs the library in the next town over.” Lisette looked like the moors spat her out. Her hair was a pale yellow, almost silver. Wolfe had never seen eyes so gray before, like a storm tossed sea.

“Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Avery whispered, allowing Moira to turn her toward the rest of the table.

“And this is Bianca. She teaches at the school.”

Bianca wore a ring on each finger, the silver and gold highlighting her dark brown skin. Her hair was knotted on top of her head, showing off the book-shaped earrings she wore.

“We’re so excited to have you,” Bianca said, pulling out the chair to her right. “Moira’s already told us so much about you.” She patted the seat and Avery went, knees weak.

“You’ve got this,” he murmured. “Just be yourself.”

She caught his eye briefly, a slightly pained expression crossing her features. Well, she couldn’t run now. Moira wouldn’t let her go until she called an end to their evening.

Avery dipped her chin only once. He caught the pleading in her eyes, the nervous twist of her fingers below the table.

“I’m right here.” He boosted himself up onto the counter, long legs dangling. “Right where you can see me.”

Her relief was palpable. He tried not to let it go to his head.

“So, Avery.” Moira handed her a wine glass and Avery reached for the bottle of sparkling. “We read your book.”

Avery flinched as she poured, wine sloshing up the side of the cup. “Yes,” she squeaked, finding him on the counter again.

“Breathe,” he commanded. “Know your worth.”

She set the bottle down and took a hefty sip. He could imagine the bubbles bursting over his own tongue, the sweet, crisp taste of it. He wondered what it would taste like from her mouth instead, if the gloss on her lips would taste like the wild blackberries that grew in the brambles by Kilmorran.

It would be a taste he could get drunk off of. Beg for. Dream about.

Avery licked a drop of champagne away from the corner of her mouth and Wolfe groaned, head knocking back against the cabinets.

“We loved it!” Moira squealed. “You have to tell us everything.” Wolfe watched as Moira ran a loving hand over the cover of Avery’s book. “What made you want to write this?”

“You gave me your pitch ten times this morning,” he reminded her. “You know it.”

Things were beginning to feel too easy—too domestic. Breakfast together each morning, a bracing walk up the cliffs, time reading while they each did their best to scandalize each other with their books, watching her cook dinner, hunkering down in the sitting room at night, firelight painting her skin bronze.

They were friends, he realized.

But that friendship was beginning to burn, to bloom, into something else.

He could fall in love with her.

Without a heart, he didn’t think himself capable of it.

But his soul…