Page 22

Tears fill my eyes as the ship approaches the rocks. For a second, nothing happens and I have time to hope that it’s miraculously managed to miss serious damage, and then there’s a great roaring noise and the ship shudders as if it’s cold too. It lists to the side and starts to sink. The air fills with screams as people throw themselves into the water.

As one, the men sprint towards them. All except one.

A man stands to my right. He’s tall, with thick dark hair pulled back with a ribbon. A cape hangs from his wide shoulders and he’s wearing knee-high boots, the leather scarred and old. There’s something in the way he stands so still that suggests isolation and a sense of revulsion that’s the echo of the one I feel.

He turns to me and my breath seizes. Unlike the men who’d seemed unaware of my presence, this one stares right at me. His face is craggy, his mouth drawn thin with emotion. “Time to go home, Blue Billings,” he says in a deep, rough voice.

With a start, I open my eyes.

I’m back in bed. The room is washed by moonlight, and Levi is beside me facing the window. His soft, even breaths are a welcome and familiar sound.

“What the fuck?” I whisper.

Levi

There’s a line of heat against my back, and Blue’s arm is slung over my waist. His soft cock nestles against my arse, his fingers lax on my skin. I turn my head slowly. He’s still sleeping and snoring gently. Messy hair tousles over his forehead, and his brow pleats as if his dreams are doing something he disapproves of. I gently smooth the furrow with a fingertip, and he wrinkles his nose before turning away and settling back into his pillow.

Smiling, I lean in and kiss the back of his neck, nestling into the skin there and ruffling his hair. Then I pause. His hair is sticky and smells of saltwater, and when I touch his shoulder, the skin is rough with a layer of sand.

I draw back. How is that possible?

Then I remember. He’d been up exploring in the middle of the night. I woke, found him gone, and then caught sight of him through the window. He’d been in the garden, and I called to him, telling him to come to bed. I must’ve fallen asleep again, because the next time I woke, he was climbing into bed beside me, his skin freezing. I mumbled a complaint when he put his cold feet on me, but then it had been lights out again for me.

A tray rests on a side table with the remains of what looks like a picnic. I feel a stab of guilt. He’d done this for me, and I didn’t even wake up for it. I shoot him a fond look. I’ll make it up to him today.

I grab my watch from the bedside table and peer blearily at the dial. That can’t be right. It’s lunchtime. How have we slept this long? Obviously, we’d needed it.

It’s been a long few months, with both of us super busy—Blue with the bookshop and the jobs he’s taken with the police, and I had two overseas conventions and a big deadline. And then we got married and made the long drive here while suffering the effects of a rather glorious night.

I consider lying back down and cuddling up to him, but I’m now fully awake and a bit restless. I climb out of bed, moving carefully and quietly. Our suitcases sit where we abandoned them last night, and I grab mine. The zipper sounds loud in the quiet room, but Blue carries on sleeping. I fling the case open, and confetti explodes with a muffled pop. I fall back on my heels with a startled huff.

“Fucking hell,” I breathe as confetti drifts and then falls onto every surface of my body. I stare down to where it glitters on the carpet. Upon closer look, the shiny gold and black shapes are tiny ghosts and bats. I snort and then glance guiltily at the bed’s sleeping occupant.

“Will Buchanan,” I breathe. “I’ll get you for this.”

Leaving the mess to be dealt with when I won’t wake Blue, I dig through the case, find my running shoes and clothes, and make use of the bathroom. Five minutes later, I head down the stairs. Every step or so another little piece of confetti falls out of my clothes. It’s going to be a nightmare to clean up. I can almost hear Will laughing.

I pause when I come into the kitchen. Pipe smoke again. It can take ages to clear it out of curtains and linen, but I frown when the scent hits stronger and fresher than yesterday. How is that possible? Has Blue secretly taken up pipe smoking? No. He’d be as open about that vice as he is about all his others.

After finding the door key and stuffing it into my pocket, I let myself out of the cottage. The wind hits me immediately. Gone is the bright sunshine from yesterday. Now the sky is full of grey clouds and the faint dust of rain on the wind promises more. As I stretch, I remember that Blue said he didn’t need a sunny honeymoon. I hope he meant that.

On the beachside path, I jog at a gentle pace for a few minutes and then speed up, losing myself in the rhythm that always lets my brain relax. I’ve solved more problems this way than any other. There’s something about running that soothes and clears my mind. Not that I need that on my honeymoon.

The tide is in and there’s only a small stretch of sand left, so I take the road we came in on and start the hefty incline, enjoying the change of scenery from my usual route in York and feeling the familiar burn in my legs. It’s fun to run somewhere different, and I love the vibe of this little cove.

It’s drizzling when I finally turn around and start down the lane toward the beach. The tide is starting to go out, and the shore is full of the flotsam and jetsam left behind. A man sits on the low sea wall staring out at the water, and I look at him curiously as I come closer. He’s stockily built, dressed all in black, and his hair is shaggy and grey flecked.

He turns as I jog nearer, and I nod and smile at him. “Hello,” I say politely.

He inclines his head. His wide smile fills his face almost to overflowing, as if he has too many teeth for his mouth. I slow my steps, startled, and then the impression is gone, and he’s just a lone man with an odd smile. He nods in acknowledgement, but for some reason, I avert my eyes as I pass him.

The lights of the cafe are golden in the gloomy afternoon light, and I beeline towards it, feeling the sudden need for warmth and company. Before opening the door, I look back towards the sea wall, but the man has gone, and the road is empty and still apart from a lone streetlamp switching on. It spreads inky shadows over the place where the man sat, and I shiver and head into the cafe.

A young man is sitting behind the counter, his head buried in a magazine. He has long wavy blond hair and when he looks up, I see the magazine is for surfers. He smiles. “Lovely afternoon,” he says with a strong Cornish accent.

I smile. “I’m not sure I’d agree.” I scan the menu board. “Could I please get two cappuccinos, a coronation chicken sandwich, a pot of the chicken and vegetable soup, and a couple of blackberry and honey muffins. All to take away.” We haven’t been out for groceries yet, and I know Blue is going to wake up starving, having missed breakfast and lunch. As if on cue, my stomach rumbles.

The lad bustles about, and I move away from the counter to look around the cafe. It’s small and decorated in a faded nautical fashion. Along one wall are framed photos that seem to depict village events over the years, most of them set on the strip of beach near the cafe.