Chapter 32 Avine
THIRTY-TWO
AVINE
Fallyn set the book on the table with a thump. “I cross-referenced the sigil patterns from your photographs with every documented magical working in Haven Shores’s history. The specific signature matches work done by exactly one practitioner.”
She turned the book to face them. Avine leaned in—still holding Theo’s hand, still wearing his jacket, still feeling the ghost of his mouth on hers—and read the name.
Elder Piprick Geare.
“That can’t be right.” She shook her head. “Piprick? He brought me a self-stirring teapot as a welcome gift.”
“He wouldn’t attack anyone intentionally.” Theo’s voice had gone thoughtful. “But his magic is unpredictable. Chaotic.”
“He’s documented in these records thirty-seven times for magical incidents.” Fallyn’s voice was flat. “No intentional harm. All spectacular failures of good intentions meeting poor execution.”
Avine stared at the page, pieces clicking into place. Piprick’s excitement about her inn’s reactivation. His babbling about protective wards during the Elder visit. The gleam inventors got when they saw a problem they wanted to solve.
“He was trying to help.” The realization landed in her gut. “He was trying to protect me.”
“His protection spells have been destabilizing the inn’s wards.” Theo squeezed her hand. “Gnome engineering and sea magic don’t mix. He’s been feeding magic it can’t process.”
“He doesn’t know he’s causing the problems. He thinks he’s helping.”
“That’s the theory.” Fallyn’s voice was flat. “Either someone’s manipulating him, or he’s dangerously incompetent.”
Theo was already gathering the photographs. “We need to confront him. Carefully.”
Avine stood, squaring her shoulders. “We should approach him at his workshop. He knows me—likes me, I think. And you’re the alpha.”
Theo’s gaze found hers, heat flickering beneath the strategic assessment. “Partners, then.”
The word landed with more weight than it should. She held his stare. “Is that what we are?”
His mouth curved—the smile she was becoming addicted to. “Among other things.” He glanced at Fallyn. “Thank you for your help.”
“Thank me by not burning down the Old Wards District.” Fallyn was already drifting back toward her stacks. “And by keeping the mating rituals out of my library in the future.”
Color rose in Avine’s cheeks. “We weren’t—”
“You absolutely were.” Fallyn didn’t look back. “The books will be gossiping about it for weeks.”
They emerged from SeaGlass Books into an evening that had arrived without permission. The sky was painted in shades of rose and amber, the harbor lights beginning to flicker in the distance.
Theo stopped on the sidewalk and turned to her. “Come here.”
Before she could respond, he pulled her into his arms.
Her throat went tight. It wasn’t a kiss—an embrace, his arms wrapped around her, her face pressed against his shoulder. She could hear his heartbeat, steady and strong. Could feel the tension draining from his shoulders as he held her.
“What’s this for?” The words were muffled against his shirt.
“Because I wanted to.” His chin rested on top of her head. “Because I’ve wanted to do this for three weeks and kept finding reasons not to. Because you scared the hell out of me four days ago and I’m still not over it.”
She wrapped her arms around his waist and held on. Let herself sink into his solidity, the simple comfort of being held by someone who wanted to hold her.
“I’m okay.” She spoke softly. “I’m right here.”
“I know.” His arms tightened briefly. “I’m still going to hold onto you for a minute.”
They stood there on Main Street as dusk draped around them, as shopkeepers closed up and the last tourists drifted by.
When they finally separated, Theo kept hold of her hand. His fingers wove through hers as they walked toward his truck.
“We should confront Piprick tomorrow.” His voice was measured. “It’s late, and if things escalate, I want us both rested.”
“That’s surprisingly reasonable.”
“I have my moments.” He stopped at the vehicle, turning to face her. His hand found her hip, drawing her closer. “After this is done. After Piprick. We need to talk.”
“I know.”
“About us.” His knuckles brushed her jaw. “About what this is. What I want it to be.”
Her heart was pounding. “What do you want it to be?”
“Everything.” The word came out rough, honest, stripped of all his careful control. “I want everything, Avine. I know that’s a lot. I know we haven’t known each other long. But I’m done pretending I don’t feel what I feel.”
She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Could only look at him—this man who’d been so careful, so controlled, now standing before her with his heart in his hands.
“I’m terrified,” she admitted. “I’ve been hurt before. I’ve had someone make me small. I swore I’d never let that happen again.”
“I don’t want you small.” His voice was fierce. “I want you exactly as you are. Sharp edges and all.”
She rose on her toes and kissed him.
It was softer than the kiss in the library—tender, deliberate, full of promise rather than desperation. His fingers tangled in her hair, cradling her head. Hers curled into his shirt, holding on.
When they finally separated, her pulse was racing. His forehead rested against hers.
“Tomorrow,” he said.
“Tomorrow.”
He drove her home in charged silence, their hands linked on the center console.
His fingers moved over her palm the entire drive—circles, spirals, shapes that might have been words.
When they hit a red light, he lifted their joined hands to his mouth and pressed a kiss to her palm, never taking his eyes off the road.
Avine’s heart was doing things it had no business doing.
When he walked her to her door, he didn’t let go of her hand. Didn’t step back. Instead, he backed her gently against the door frame, one hand braced beside her head, the other still holding hers.
“I should go.” He said it even as he leaned closer. “We have an early morning.”
“Probably.” She didn’t move away.
“I’m going to kiss you again.”
“Okay.”
This kiss was slower than the ones in the library.
Thorough. His mouth moved over hers with deliberate care, learning her, memorizing her.
His palm cradled her jaw, tilting her head to deepen the angle.
She felt it everywhere—in her racing pulse, in the warmth coiling through her, in the way her knees threatened to give out.
When he finally pulled back, neither of them moved away. He stayed close, nose brushing hers, his thumb tracing her lower lip with devastating tenderness.
“Lock your wards.” His voice was wrecked. “I’ll be here at eight.”
“Bossy.”
“You like it.”
She did. God help her, she did.
“Goodnight, Theo.”
“Goodnight, Avine.”
She went inside. Locked her wards. Leaned against the door with her fingers pressed to her still-tingling lips and smiled like an idiot.
Through the window, she watched Theo’s truck pull away. Tomorrow, they would confront Piprick. Tomorrow, they would deal with whatever complications arose. Tomorrow they would have the conversation he’d promised—about everything, about what they were becoming.
But tonight, standing in her kitchen with her lips swollen from his kisses and his jacket still wrapped around her shoulders, she let herself feel it. The hope. The wanting. The terrifying, exhilarating certainty that she was falling for this man—had maybe already fallen—and didn’t want to stop.
She pressed her hand to the window, watching the last traces of sunset fade.
Tomorrow.