Page 136 of The Sacred Space Between

He searched for a reply. ‘That… wouldn’t be practical.’

She drew her legs higher up his back, cupping the side of his neck to draw their foreheads together. He revelled in each minute response, hoarding them like precious gems. The brush of her breath against his mouth, the tensing of her thighs around his waist. How his name sounded when gasped from her lips.Nothing else mattered. He could spend decades learning her and still find something new to discover, which was exactly what he planned to do.

Jude awoke to Maeve curled against his chest, her breath slow with sleep. Moonlight cut an ivory ribbon across his quilt. The night was at its blackest, yet he was suddenly wide awake. Something tugged at him, blanketing his vision with flecks of silver like dancing dust motes. He blinked. A memory floated to the forefront. New, but… not new. As fragile as a pearl and just as rare.

In the memory, he was sitting in the crack of a half-open window, one leg dangling over the steep drop to the sea below, the other curled close to his chest. Cold air buffeted his face. When he licked his lips, he tasted salt. Despite the wind creeping off the whitecaps below and the icy limestone bricks against his back, he was warm. His heart was full.

Behind him, the door to his bedroom creaked open, and there was Maeve. Young, maybe thirteen or fourteen.

You only have a year left.

Jude brushed the worry aside as she crept closer. Her face was full of youth, eyes just as bright as he knew them best. Her thick flannel nightgown swept the top of her socked feet. She had her hands cupped gingerly in front of her, like she was afraid of what she held between her palms.

‘What is it?’ he heard himself ask.

Maeve scrunched her nose as she extended her hands towards him. ‘Open the window wider.’

Pulling his hanging leg in, he slid from the windowsill and did as she asked. The iron was cold under his too-warm fingers. Maeve stepped past him to gaze at the night sky above. Stars winked against the inky blackness. He didn’t think he’d ever seen something so lovely.

Slowly, she opened her hands.

A small, brownish bird sat perched between her palms. Its silky feathers were dappled with fine black lines, tiny beak needle-sharp as it cocked its head to gaze at them. Jude held his breath, wondering if Maeve was doing the same.

‘A wren,’ she whispered. ‘I found him in the hall. He was surprisingly easy to catch.’

‘I think he likes you,’ he replied, his voice just as quiet. If Ezra caught her in his room, they’d both be in trouble, but for now, it was just them and the bird.

The wren’s wings snapped open. Almost too quick to follow, it rose into the air, disappearing into the night. Her shoulders brushed his with her exhale. She lifted a hand, waving to the wren’s barely visible silhouette. ‘You know what Felix likes to say about birds, don’t you?’

He shook his head.

Maeve smiled at him, squeezing his hand once before releasing. ‘One bird for courage.’