“You’ll make it prettier.” Now he tugged her to the beach. “Are you cold?”

“No, are you?”

“I feel pretty close to perfect.” After fishing a lighter out of the duffle, he lit the little candles, and used his multitool to open the wine.

“We have time?”

“We’ve got some time left.” He pulled her down to the blanket, poured the wine. “You-and-me time.”

“I like you-and-me time, very much. But I have to use it to tell you something. I didn’t give you the truth.”

“About what?”

She dropped her gaze. “You believe I saw you, as you saw me, for the first time on the beach in Corfu. But it’s not the truth.”

“No? What is?”

“When I was training for the quest, the sea witch took me to another island, and I saw you there, on the beach, under the moon like we are now. You were alone, but you didn’t look lonely.”

Intrigued, he tipped her face back so their eyes met. “What island?”

“I was told to remember what the land people called it. Isle au Haut.”

“Maine? I haven’t been there in . . . that had to be at least five years ago. How long did you train?”

“Until I was chosen, then longer, then until I knew, because I was chosen, to come to you.”

“Did you see the others before?”

“Only you. The sea witch said only you, and you would be enough to tell me when and where I should come to begin. You were enough. Are you angry I didn’t give you the truth?”

“No.” To prove it, he threaded his fingers with hers. “I’m not angry.”

“I wanted you then, but it wasn’t time, and I had to wait.”

And he’d thought the weeks he’d waited had been endless. “Five years. That’s a chunk of waiting time.”

“Not when I have this.”

She snuggled against him, her head on his shoulder, her gaze—as his—on the sea. He’d meant to give her that sea, and some romance, some time out of time in a place that mattered to him.

Without knowing it mattered as much to her.

He hadn’t intended to give more, ask more. But it felt right, there in that place that mattered to both of them, in this time belonging only to them, that he give her more. With no regrets.

“I didn’t give you the whole truth either.”

“What isn’t the whole truth?”

“I want you, but that’s not all. I’m your friend, but that’s not all.” He screwed the stem of his glass into the sand so he could take her hands, bring one, then the other to his lips. “I’m in love with you.”

Those eyes, those eyes that mesmerized him, went wide. Her breath caught, then released on what sounded perilously close to a sob. “You love me . . . Do you mean the way you love Sasha and Riley?”

“No. I love them, like family. Like sisters. But I’m in love with you. It means—”

“I know. I know.” Her eyes glinted with joy, with tears. “I know,” she said again. “I love, but you are the only one for me to be in love. I couldn’t tell you.” She threw her arms around him, pressed her cheek to his. “It’s like the first kiss. I couldn’t tell you unless you told me. Unless you were with me.”

“I am with you.” He shifted, took her lips. “In love with you, Annika. I know we can’t—”

“No, no. Please. Don’t say can’t with love. We have love. You’re my love, my only. I swam through the Canal d’Amour, and you came to me.”

“The canal. In Corfu?”

“I loved you when I saw you on the beach before, and I waited. And when you pulled me to you, to begin, I swam through the canal. It’s said you do this, and will meet your one true love. And I did, and you came for me. But I couldn’t tell you.”

Her fingers traced over his cheeks, his jaw, his mouth. “I knew your face, and your smile, but not your name. Until that night. And still I couldn’t tell you. Not when you fought beside me, or kissed me, or mated with me, or saved me from death. But I can give the words back to you. I’m in love with you.”

She spilled her wine, but it hardly mattered, as she flung herself at him, tumbled them both back on the blanket. The kiss went from gentle to deep, from tender to strong.

“I wanted to give you a gift, in the sea.”

“You did.”

“But you’ve given me a gift.” In reverence, in joy, she laid her hand on his heart. “There’s no more precious gift than love. I’ll keep yours safe, always. Can you be with me again? Is there time? I want to celebrate the gift.”

“We’ll make time. We’ll make our own time.”

They’re late.” Restless, Bran pushed up to pace under the pergola where they’d all gathered in a kind of vigil.

“They’re safe,” Sasha assured him. “Give them a little longer. They’re safe. They’re happy. We all have to face what’s coming soon enough.”

“If the man can’t get it done in two hours—”

“Put a sock in it,” Riley advised Doyle. “Not everybody just wants to knock one out and be done.”