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That part of the book had definitely had him breathing a little harder. He imagined Avery pressed up against a stone wall, head back against it as he kissed his way down her throat, hand slipping under the short skirt she wore.

“Okay, you cretin. Other than the sex?” she asked, still red as a tomato.

His smile faltered just a bit. “It was beautiful,” he admitted. “Hopeful. Raw. Vulnerable. You’re a gifted storyteller, Avery. You simply need to trust yourself.”

She eyed him cautiously. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… The ladies at the book club were right. There is more to a romance book than simply the romance. You’re worried about writing about loneliness? For what? It’s real. All of it. There are people all over the world connecting to your stories. There is someone out there feeling exactly as you do right now. I think—no, I know—that if you let yourself write it, you’d see the effect it would have.”

“And if I’m scared?” she asked, not looking at him.

“Then it’s the story you need to tell,” he said gently. “You came to Ireland to find yourself. Use it. Create a character that’s struggling, that’s lost and alone. You don’t need to send her here—you can send her anywhere. Give her a community, let her make friends. Perhaps as you heal her, you’ll begin to heal yourself too.”

Skeptically, she asked, “You think that’ll work?”

“Only one way to know for sure.” Finally she glanced at him and he gave her what he thought was an encouraging smile. “Promise me you’ll try.”

“All right,” she finally said, though he thought she sounded defeated. “I’ll do my best.”

“That’s my girl.”

A slow smile curved across her face and he locked it down tight, committing the tiny dimple on her cheek to memory. The world would end and be born again and he’d never forget the shape of it. It looked just as the crescent moon did outside his window—so unbelievably far out of reach.

After she cleaned up breakfast, she went to the sitting room.

Wolfe watched her open her laptop, biting her lower lip so hard he thought he saw a drop of blood.

And then she began to write.

A slow, hesitant tap of the keys that eventually bled into a thunderous clicking noise and he watched, rapt, as she slowly slid away from him. Avery hunkered down on the couch, hands flying.

Quietly, he backed away, grinning like an absolute loon.

He disturbed her only once when the sun began to set. She looked up at him, eyes glazed and far away.

“What time is it?” she asked, voice cracking.

“Nearly four,” he said hesitantly.

She gaped at him in shock but underneath it all, he saw the joy. The light in her eyes. The document in front of her was full of words. Pages of them.

“I—I did it,” she breathed. Tears welled in her eyes and Wolfe had never been so proud in his life. “I did it!” She set down her laptop and then she was on him, arms thrown around his neck.

He still wasn’t used to it—feeling the weight and warmth of someone else’s touch. The faerie stones had solidified so many pieces of him. He was learning how to channel the energy around him to different parts of his body depending on what he needed. Right now he sent it to his chest, his arms, his hands, and clutched her tight against him. His legs went numb but he ignored it, focusing instead on the wild beat of her heart.

“Thank you.” She peppered his cheeks with kisses and he chuckled, wondering how it could be possible to fall in love with someone after only a few weeks beside them. “Thank you.”

“This was already inside you, Avery.” He set her down, pressing his index finger to her chest. “It just needed permission to escape.”

“God, I feel…good.” She laughed, head tipped back. She looked lighter, looser. More defined in all the right ways. “I need to tell Marissa!”

When she reached for her phone, he stilled her. “Wait, just wait. Let yourself have this for just a moment.”

“The publishers need to know,” she protested.

“Can’t they wait a night?”

Suspicion narrowed her gaze. “Why?”