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Dutifully she slid her jacket on, flipping her hair from the collar. He saw himself as he could be now beside her. Dark pants, boots, the cable knit sweaters that so many men in the village wore. His wind-swept hair, a splotch of red on his cheeks from the cold. The way he’d kiss her out the door, hands on her waist and fisting in the fabric of her dress.

He’d be the one to go to the bar and get the drinks while she held the table. He’d be the one on the dance floor with her, hands molded to every curve and dip. He’d be the one with his lips on her skin, his heart crawling pathetically to wherever she was in the room. He’d be the one to take her home, to peel her out of it, to lay her down, her hair like liquid starlight on the bed.

And he’d be the one devoting his very essence to her, praying with every press of his fingertips or mouth that he was sewing himself into her—that one soul could no longer exist without the other.

Cold wind rushed into the foyer and he was back to himself, back to being barely more than a cold burst of fog or mist coming off the sea.

Tonight wasn’t about him and all the things he wanted.

It was about Avery and the absolute life radiating off her.

She looked at him expectantly and he grinned, even as he felt the phantom echoes of his own heart breaking. To be near her was enough—to feel even a hint of that warmth was more than he ever thought he’d get.

Avery chattered the entire way to the pub, fingers tapping restlessly on the steering wheel. Her ideas tumbled out one after the other. A story about a young woman reeling after the loss of a job that took over her life. When they let her go, she returned to an empty apartment and for the first time, she saw what it had cost her.

No photos on the walls.

No memories.

No color.

No noise.

Just a phone pinging with emails and a hole in her chest.

In a fit of spontaneity, she booked a trip to Spain to find a way back to her life—to herself.

There were parallels, to be sure.

He wondered if it hurt her to write it or if it felt cathartic to get all of it out, to put down the things he knew she thought were ugly and hard to love about herself onto the page. She had no idea just how wrong she was.

To fall in love with Avery Eden was the easiest thing he could ever imagine doing. There was no part of her that did not call to him or enchant him. Everything she was beckoned to him and Wolfe went, more than happy to trail after her wherever it was she wanted to go.

“Look at this,” Avery murmured. “What is all this?”

Bracken Bay was transforming. With Samhain only a week and a half away, the village had started hanging their decorations. Turnip lanterns carved with faces blinked out from windows and the stoops of each shop. Garlands of dried leaves and berries wove their way down the street, lit with small lights. Every window had a candle inside it, the wax already dripping and melting down the sides.

“Turnips were what we used to carve,” Wolfe offered. “Before there were pumpkins. Samhain is an important holiday for us. They’ll celebrate with a bonfire in the center of town and spend time remembering their ancestors and all those that came before us.”

“You,” she said, glancing at him.

“Aye.” He dipped his head. “Me.”

“You said…” Avery pulled to the side and parked. “You said the veil was thinnest then.”

“It is. It’s a night that the dead get to come home. They’re able to look in on their loved ones. Some families will decorate their hearths, lay pieces of clothing or mementos from those they lost to guide them back.”

The wheels in her head were turning, he could feel them.

“What happens to you during it?” She turned off the engine but made no move to exit the car.

“It’s hard to describe. I suppose I travel, in a way. I exist as I do now and the closer the clock creeps, the world starts to turn misty. I may disappear for a bit.”

Alarm flashed in her eyes. “What?”

“It feels like…” He flexed his fingers. “Like I get sucked away and spat out somewhere else.” He exhaled roughly. “And when I do, I’m…”

“You.”