Page 25

“You shouldn’t allow anyone to make you feel uncomfortable, Seren.”

Before Seren could answer, she was gone, the little songbird and her preternatural scent of freshly mowed grass.

Her feet were in motion even if her mind was still reeling from the words, and Seren found herself in the cold street, looking at Lark’s retreating form, the hood of the jacket back over her windswept hair.

Deciding against simply running after and grabbing her, knowing how jumpy Lark could be, Seren settled on calling her name. It was like a reverse déjà vu, the instance of Lark chasing after her almost two weeks ago to tremulously touch her vivid in Seren’s mind. It made her smile. It made her long to be touched again.

As Lark turned, blue eyes a little panicked, Seren deliberately slowed her steps, allowing a few seconds of breathing for both of them. She took her beanie off, the Crow’s Crew of the Brew emblazoned on it along with the logo of the coffee shop.

“It’s too cold to be walking the streets of the Nest without a proper hat.”

Lark looked at her, eyes still wide, but there was no fear in them, and Seren pulled the hood back down carefully, settling the beanie over the too-long bangs.

“It looks honey-touched in this light,” Seren heard herself say and immediately felt ridiculous. But Lark sighed, a long contented sigh, and pulled the beanie lower, eyes surrounded by the long lashes, peeking at Seren with mischief.

The snowflakes, the last ones of the departing storm clouds, fell in a thin veil around them, some landing on Lark’s hair, cheeks, and freckled nose. Seren’s fingers twitched to brush over the cute little marks under the guise of protecting her from the elements. A particularly brazen snowflake landed on Lark’s lashes, as if taunting Seren and her resolve. She bit her lip and lost her nerve at the last moment, dropping her hand.

Lark’s eyes followed the motion and then looked back at Seren’s face, mischief playing in the blue depths.

“And here I thought it was just brown, Captain Crowhart of the Fire Brigade.” She rose on her tiptoes and very gently laid her lips on Seren’s cheek. In a second, she was gone, like the songbird Victoria kept calling her. Seren sighed, touched her cheek, and looked at the ocean, where a lonely wave on the otherwise calm surface seemed to wink at her before spilling onto the empty beach.

Her skin was burning pleasantly under her touch. Seren realized she was smiling. She shook her head, grateful for many things but in that moment chiefly for the fact that her sisters weren’t around to tease her. She’d take the ocean as her only witness for now.

8

LARK, REFUGE & MAGICAL REVELATIONS

SNOW MELTS, AND LIFE RESUMES IN FULL FORCE ON DRAGONS!

In the aftermath of the Snowmageddon, the Dragonites are finally emerging fully from their lairs, and the island is fully open for business.

The Astronomy Resort is offering package deals on various spa options and is partnering with the Tavern for an upcoming series of charity events.

Speaking of charity events, volunteers are being sought to help support the imminent fundraiser for the Refuge.

Also, speaking of the Tavern, in an extensive interview with Northern Hospitality, Mrs. Crowhart (we, along with the entire island, are officially dropping Moreau from her illustrious name) stated for the record, as the Tavern opens its doors wide for the upcoming season, that while she “doesn’t give a rat’s ass about a second Michelin star,” but she “still welcomes the inspectors to assess the establishment since it means so much to the town and to her family.”

Sounds like Victoria Crowhart. We wish her well in the upcoming assessment cycle.

—Crow’s Caw

Once she had ventured into the world of Crow’s Nest and Dragons, Lark found that she had many hours in a day. And many ways to keep herself useful. And maybe, just maybe, among all the hours and all the uses, she’d find a purpose.

Victoria had given her a part-time job at the Tavern as “definitely not just a dishwasher” but as “my project”—whatever that was—and in terms of daily chores, it meant whatever Victoria needed done in that moment, plus a brand-new recipe she taught Lark herself, which was Lark’s new favorite pastime.

At least twice a week, she helped Ceridwen, either at the flower store or at the hothouse. Ceridwen had very casually dropped a hint that she was becoming rather swamped—not that Lark had ever seen said swampiness when she was at the register at Blossoms—and Lark immediately offered to help on her free evenings since Victoria only needed her in the mornings when she could personally oversee her work. Lark volunteered her time until one evening, Ceridwen simply handed her an envelope with two weeks’ pay in cash and said absolutely nothing else.

Then came Deryn and her request for “some baking help” that was just this side of nonchalant. It also miraculously synchronized with the two mornings when the Tavern was closed.

It was all lining up rather suspiciously. And it was paying her more than she had ever earned in her lifetime.

The Crowharts were absolute jewels, and Lark felt her heart swell in her chest every time she crossed the threshold of the Tavern or Blossoms or the Cupcake.

Or when she put on the Crow’s Crew of the Brew beanie. It still smelled like Seren. Coffee and ocean. Free and magical and… Lark brought the woolly hat to her face and inhaled. It was embarrassing. It was magnificent and freeing, and she could not help but do it often. It felt positively decadent. There was no other word for it. It gave her shivers. The naughty kind.

Here she was, twenty-seven years old, and for the very first time she was luxuriating in the scent of a woman whom she’d kissed on the cheek… Because she wanted to. Because she was free to do so. Because there was absolutely nobody to stop her.

Lark ignored her mother’s voice and the ugly words in her mind and burrowed deeper into the soft wool.