against a wall? That would take a special talent. Along with all her other special talents.
Gently, he peeled her off the wall and tucked an arm under her knees. He lifted her off her feet and strode toward her bedroom.
“I wasn’t actually snoring,” she murmured against his chest. “That was a joke.”
“It was a cute one. Very cute. But I’m still carrying you to bed.”
“You just really like carrying me to beds. Admit it.” Her sleepy demand made him smile.
“I have no problem admitting that. I’ll carry you to bed any time you want.”
“Works for me.”
He tumbled her onto the mattress where they’d spent so many blissful hours. She reached for him, beckoning, so he stretched out next to her.
“I should probably get back. Early morning tomorrow.”
“Just snuggle with me for a minute,” she murmured.
He cupped his body around hers, like a bear protecting a cub. She wriggled her body to get into the perfect comfy position. “How are you so warm and snuggly-riffic?”
“Snuggly-riffic?”
“Mmm, hmm. Snuggly-riffic,” she repeated. “Cuddle-tastic. You’re even better than a weighted blanket.”
He chuckled deeply. “Never heard that before. I hear good things about weighted blankets.”
“Yeah, well, they can’t fuck like you do. They can’t make me feel the things you do. No one makes me feel the things you do. No one ever has.”
In the hush of the night, those quiet words held nothing but blunt truth. The kind of truth Kate might not be willing to share if she wasn’t half-asleep.
In the morning, would she even remember that she’d said them? Would he?
Hell yes, he would. He wasn’t likely to ever forget those words in Kate’s husky voice.
“Same,” he said gruffly. He could say more than that, but he didn’t have her way with words. Hell, she’d just invented some new ones off the top of her head. He liked to demonstrate rather than explain, and as far as he was concerned, he’d shown her exactly how he felt—with his body.
Maybe in time he’d say more. He was patient.
He heard another soft snore, and smiled to himself. Good thing he hadn’t taxed his brain to come up with the perfect words. They would have been wasted on her sleeping ears.
He nestled closer to her. He should probably go back downstairs. If he fell asleep here, he’d never want to leave.
The next day was a Saturday, and he didn’t have to work. For once, he wanted to be around when Dylan woke up. Make him breakfast, hear how things were going with his community service.
Maybe give him a hockey lesson. Hockey skills would go a long way toward making the Lost Harbor kids accept him.
Despite his best intentions, sleep dragged down his eyelids. He was almost entirely under when Kate spoke again.
“I almost forgot.” She sounded drunk with sleep. “My old firm called and offered me my job back. Imagine that.”
He waited for more, his breath caught in his chest. Was she leaving? Heading back to the Kingdom of Cities? Why wouldn’t she? She’d always had one foot out the door.
Another snore told him he wasn’t getting an answer tonight. Well, hell.
He slid out of her bed and dressed, then padded down the outdoor stairs into the dawning blue of the next day.
Chapter Thirty
The Olde Salt Saloon always smelled as if they served turpentine and varnish on tap. With a garnish of sea kelp and a whiff of stale beer. It had always smelled that way, as far as Kate could remember.
She and Maya and another friend, Toni, had talked their way into the Olde Salt when they were sixteen and just wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Maya had walked out in disgust. Kate had struck up an entertaining conversation with a deckhand from Dutch Harbor. And Toni—for some strange reason—had decided she wanted to bartend there some day.
“Hola, stranger.” She poured Kate a shot of something amber and unnamed from a flask. “Haven’t seen you in a hundred years.”
“I’ve been living that ancient curse, may you live in interesting times.”
“Tell me all. The real story, not the gossip I pick up from the motley crew here.” She wrinkled her forehead at the weathered and whiskered fishermen slouched at the bar. You could always tell a fisherman because they never quite lost that faraway horizon gaze—and they often had a stray fish scale or a bloodstain somewhere on their clothing.
“I want to hear the gossip first.” Kate tossed back the shot, which was strong enough to be either varnish or turpentine, but