and then reached out a handshake in welcome. "I'm Sophie, by the way, and this chatterbox is Lizzie."
Fisher's Cove might be small, but it was definitely friendly.
"I'm a musician. A fiddler." Cass took the offered hand and felt the glow of immediate kinship strengthen. "Taking a bit of a break right now to smell the flowers."
"You should come back in summer." Lizzie was not-so-subtly herding them all into the parlor. "We don't have very many things blooming right now, but Gran's gardens are the best in the whole world."
Summer was the height of music festival madness. Last year, Cass had headlined twenty-seven. She'd barely seen a flower.
The rocks murmured under her feet. Chiding, almost.
Lizzie led the way to a pair of enormous chairs closest to the fire. "These are the best places to sit if you like to curl your feet up and stuff. Gran says they must have been built for giants."
Moira chuckled, already seated on a sofa, bag of knitting at the ready. Cass detoured - the yarn was gorgeous. Bending over, she ran a few strands through her fingers. "It's wondrous. Like the color of crocuses in springtime."
"Aye." The old lady looked very pleased. "Sophie just dyed up a fresh batch for me."
Ah, no wonder she felt like she'd found her people. Cass turned and found the woman in question sitting at an old desk, a pile of ancient books in front of her. "Do you have more?"
"More can easily be made." The slow smile offered friendship as well as an answer. "Especially if you want to help babysit the dye pots."
That sounded like just about the perfect lazy afternoon.
"A knitter, are you?" Moira was digging into the basket at her feet. "Here, these should work." She held up two pointy needles attached to a skinny cable. "I only need one skein of this for wee Morgan's hat. I've two more if you've a mind to make yourself a wooly hat or some nice warm mittens."
Two minutes later, Cass was curled up in a large and very cozy chair, knitting needles in her hands, cookies at the ready, and surrounded by new friends.
She leaned her head back into the lumpy cushions, feeling her soul exhale.
Fisher's Cove - a little piece of home and heaven.
She closed her eyes a moment, fingers stroking the yarn under her fingers, and gave thanks to the rocks that had tugged her to such a place. She'd make Nan a hat, soaked in the quiet magic of this little, secluded village.
The rocks thrummed back, well pleased.
Cass searched for the end of the skein of yarn and handed it to Lizzie sitting at her feet. "Would you help me make it into a ball?"
The bright-eyed child set down her cookie and grinned, obviously well acquainted with such tasks. Moira's smile twinkled across the way, and Sophie hummed gently as she studied the pages of her dusty books. No words, just the easy communion of kindred souls in a warm space on a cold day.
Perfection.
And then a man walked into the parlor. A craggy snowman in black, with eyes that shattered her peace.
Cass didn't need a sign this time. Unless the rocks had suddenly decided to take up fiddling, their meaning was very clear.
It wasn't for soft purple yarn and easy friendship that she'd been brought here.
He was why she had come.
She stood, needing to meet her fate on her feet.
And nearly fell over again as a tiny girl with lavender eyes followed him into the room, and fate landed a second punch.
Hecate's hells.
He'd walked into the parlor of the inn every day this winter. Not once had it kicked him in the balls.
Until now.
He barely saw the shape of her - dark curls and an even darker sweater working as shadowy backdrop for a face that registered as pretty. Interesting, even.
Those would only have made him grumpy. It was her mind that slammed into his nether regions and wouldn't let go.
Soft joy. A soul breathing out. Easy kinship with the world.
Three things Marcus Buchanan had never really had.
And then it all vanished. The stranger slumped back into her chair, oddly limp. Green eyes stared at him, wary, and then darted to Morgan. "Hello, sweetheart."
His daughter grinned and beelined the newcomer's direction, still dressed in her winter woolies. Marcus would have grabbed her - except he could barely breathe.
The new arrival wasn't quite as shell-shocked. "I've taken your chair, have I? Come on up, then." With competent hands, the woman began peeling Morgan out of