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The pale crescent at the base of his thumb caught the bedside lamplight. That scar would look exactly the same in twenty years. I kept hold of his hand, trying to picture mine beside it when I was almost fifty.

Chapter Six

The rain had stopped while we were having dinner, but water still dripped from the old brick buildings along Harbor Street. Everly caught the front of my coat as we stepped outside the restaurant and pulled me beneath the awning, away from the people hurrying past on the wet sidewalk.

Before I could ask what she was doing, she rose onto her toes and kissed me.

I wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her closer, enjoying the warmth of her mouth against mine and the way her fingers slipped beneath my collar. Behind us, the restaurant door swung open, releasing a burst of conversation and the smell of roasted garlic. A couple emerged and politely maneuvered around us.

Everly laughed against my lips and drew back, although she kept her hand resting against my chest.

"I've been wanting to do that since we sat down to dinner," she admitted. "I was beginning to think we'd spend the entire evening talking."

"I enjoyed talking to you." I brushed a damp strand of hair away from her cheek. "But I'm certainly not going to complain about this."

She smiled and gave me another quick kiss before we continued toward my building.

The harbor wind carried the smell of salt water and wet leaves through the narrow streets. Most of the elaborate Halloween displays had disappeared from the storefronts, leaving a few bedraggled pumpkins on doorsteps and orange lights tangled around the iron railings. Everly slipped her hand into mine as we walked, occasionally drawing closer when the wind caught her coat.

At the entrance to my building, she glanced up toward the tall windows of my loft.

"There's something I've been looking forward to all day," she said. "I meant what I said last night about wanting to see your wings again. I'd love to have a proper look when I'm not furious with you."

I laughed and pulled open the building door.

"Then we'd better go upstairs. I think you'll appreciate them much more when you're not considering murdering their owner."

The old staircase creaked beneath our feet as we climbed. Everly kept hold of my hand, using the other to gather the hem of her coat whenever it threatened to catch against the wrought-iron railing. Somewhere above us, a television was playing loudly enough for a laugh track to reach the stairwell.

"I've been here twice now, and I don't think I noticed half of this building on either visit," she said.

"You had a few other things on your mind."

"That's putting it mildly. Although I do remember thinking the ceilings were unusually high. Now I understand why you chose the place."

"They're useful. Most apartments aren't designed for a thirteen-foot wingspan, and landlords tend to become unpleasant when you start removing walls."

Everly laughed as we reached my floor.

"Have you actually considered doing that?"

"Not here. The building's old enough that I'd rather not discover which walls are holding up the roof."

I unlocked the loft and stepped aside to let her enter.

Warm air met us inside, carrying the faint scent of cedar from the shelves beside the windows. I'd left a lamp burning near the leather sofa, and the low light softened the exposed brick and dark wooden floors. Beyond the tall panes, the harbor lights reflected across the black water. An occasional gust rattled the old window frames, but the evening's rain had cleared enough to reveal the lighthouse across the channel.

Everly slipped out of her coat and handed it to me. Beneath it, her cream sweater followed the lovely curves of her waist and breasts, and she'd paired it with fitted black trousers and ankle boots. She looked more comfortable than she had in Monday's work dress, although I was beginning to suspect there wasn't anything she could wear that wouldn't distract me.

I hung her coat beside mine.

She wandered toward the windows, pausing to examine a shelf of books and the small collection of old harbor photographs I'd acquired since moving to Witch Harbor. I watched her pick up a framed picture of a fishing schooner and turn it toward the light.

"Is this the harbor before they built the new pier?"

"About eighty years before. The old warehouses ran right down to the water then."

"It's beautiful." She set the photograph back carefully. "I grew up visiting places like this, but I never get tired of the old waterfront."