Page 77 of Her Wild Coast Refuge

Dawson swings the door open before I finish climbing the steps. He’s freshly shaven, his blue eyes vibrant.

“Hi,” I say.

“Hi.” He seems nervous, or maybe he’s just excited.

We share a nervous laugh.

“Rough day?” I ask.

His eyes darken, but it quickly passes. “It’s better now.” He leans close to inspect one of my earrings, his fingers brushing my skin. “These new?”

I’m touched that he’d notice. “Yeah. I made them today.”

“Where did the glass come from?”

“Recycled from vintage dish ware.”

His look turns pained, and he withdraws. “Beautiful.”

“I wish I had a kiln, so I could melt my own glass.”

“How hard would it be to get one?”

I hadn’t planned to blurt that out. “Um, I’m not sure. I could ask at the art center in town. Maybe they’d buy one.”

“Why not set up your own space? All your tools and equipment in one spot?”

We’re getting into Big Dreams category, and I’m not sure I like it. “Maybe someday.”

Quinn joins us on the stoop, his eyes drinking me in. “You look amazing.” He lifts my hand to kiss the back of it.

“And you look like trouble,” I fire back, keeping my distance, because with an opening like that, he’s going to make it difficult to leave the house.

“Last time I checked, you liked my kind of trouble,” he replies with a laugh.

I fight the blush rising up my chest by spinning around to lead them to the truck, feeling their eyes on me.

On the way to the festival grounds, Quinn entertains me with a story about the frog under their porch that woke them at four in the morning and the bull moose who kept interrupting their meetings with his mating call.

“Have you been fishing?” Dawson asks from the backseat.

I eye him in the rearview mirror. “Yep. Every morning.” I don’t bring up Carl Pfeiffer’s visit from the other day. Maybe he was fishing too. Did I reveal too much?

“Have you ever fished anywhere else?” Dawson asks.

“Like outside of this valley? No.”

“Would you?”

Next to me, Quinn shifts in his seat, like he’s uncomfortable. When I glance up, he’s watching Dawson with a wary look on his face.

“Is that an invitation?” I ask to lighten the mood.

Dawson looks away. “Maybe.”

“Say the word and I’ll be there.”

Quinn flashes me a smile, but it’s tense.

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