“God, it’s… Is this even legal?”
“It is in France. I came across the recipe last week, and was going to make it for your homecoming, but Keegan had that request. So for tonight.”
“You’re a wonder, Marco.”
“I’m all of that.” He handed her a sandwich of ham and smoked Gouda on brown bread.
They got boots and jackets, Breen wound on a scarf, and they started out.
Bollocks rushed to them, ran a circle around them, then dashed to the woods.
With a cap cocked over his braids, Marco pulled out his phone. “Brought it along to take some pictures for the blog before we get over there where it won’t work. You sure there’s nothing you can do about that?”
“They chose magick, Marco.”
“Yeah, yeah, and I get it. Still.”
He paused to take a shot of the cottage, another of the bay, then as Bollocks sat at the edge of the woods, cocked his head, one of the dog.
“I’m going this weekend and getting us a Christmas tree.”
“Christmas.”
“It’s coming right along. We’re getting lights and ornaments, the works. We’re going to do it up right.”
“I would love that. Wrapping paper and bows—I have to get presents! Oh, and we’ve got a Christmas wedding to help plan.”
“I didn’t say anything last night, because it was time for celebrating some, but Morena’s changed her mind back and wants to wait on the wedding until spring or maybe even summer.”
“What? Why? Oh.” He didn’t have to answer. “Phelin. Losing her brother, it’s so hard. I wish I’d had more time with her after, but she needed to come back to the valley, needed to be here, and with Finola and Seamus.”
“Finola asked me to talk to her—to Morena about it.” He stopped to take more pictures in the woods. “Said she’d tried, but our girl just hedged. Same with me. So maybe you could give it a try.”
“I will. Still, if she’s really not ready, needs more time, Harken understands. No one understands better. I’ll get a feel when I see her.”
When they came to the tree, he put the phone away. “I’ll give you some space. Sometimes a girl just needs a girl, right?”
Together they stepped from one world to another.
The sun beamed bright and strong so the sky cupped the world in hard, bold blue. Fields shined green and gold behind their stonefences. With no interest in the newcomers, sheep in their wooly coats grazed.
She saw Harken and Morena in a cart behind one of his sturdy horses.
“They’re bringing in peat from the moors,” Breen realized. “What they’ve cut and dried, bringing it in to stockpile for the winter.”
“Finola says Morena spends most mornings with them, doing chores and so on, then most afternoons here, working with Harken. Goes off now and then with that hawk of hers, but mostly…”
“Working.” Breen nodded. “I was going to go straight to Nan’s, but I’ll spend some time with Morena first.”
“How about I go tell Nan what’s up? And that’ll give you the space.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
They crossed the little field, climbed over the wall.
“Tell Nan I’ll come when I can—or if I can. I want to see what Morena needs.”
“You got it.”