Page 113 of No Charm Done

His eyes opened slowly, like he was dragging himself up from somewhere far away. The bed springs creaked faintly under his weight. He rolled over, gazing up at the ceiling, at the lace curtains. Then at Luna . . . and his whole face did something that made her want to cry and kiss him simultaneously.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi yourself.”

“I’m not dead.”

“Nope.”

“And you’re here with me.”

“Yup.”

Shaw reached up—moving carefully, like his shoulders were still achy—and touched her face. Just rested his palm against her cheek, thumb brushing her cheekbone, like he was confirming she was solid. “I was afraid I’d wake up in that server room. Or back in the Void. Or in 1926, right before the magicians grabbed me, and this whole thing was just . . .”

“A dream?”

“One hell of a dream.” His mouth curved slightly. “But yeah.”

Luna turned her head and kissed his palm. “Not a dream. Whether it’s 2026 or 1926, you’re stuck with me now.”

“Stuck. That’s one word for it.”

“What word would you use?”

“Lucky,” he said immediately. Then, softer: “Terrified.”

Her chest tightened. “Of what?”

“Messing this up.” His thumb was still moving against her cheek, like he couldn’t stop touching her. “I got a penchant for messing things up, Luna. And you’re—” He stopped, struggling for words in a way that made her heart hurt. “You know, I just realized? You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in at least a hundred years. It’s funny, grifters like me use lines like that all the time. But now it’s literally true. And I don’t want to⁠—”

Luna kissed him.

Not gently. Not tentatively. She kissed him like she’d kissed him yesterday on the town green: fierce and claiming and absolutely done with the distance that had been between them.

Shaw made a sound against her mouth that was half surprise, half relief, and pulled her closer with his uninjured arm.

When they finally broke apart, she said, “You’re not going to mess this up, Mr. Shaw. Because I won’t let you.”

“I don’t deserve you . . .” He lifted an eyebrow. “Sweetheart.” Luna squinched up her face at the word, which made him laugh. “Oh, come on! After what we just did? All that and I still can’t call you sweetheart?”

She laughed. “I’ll consider it. Maybe it’s growing on me . . . maybe.”

He lay on his back, and she tucked in against his side, her head on his chest. His heart was beating strong and steady. She could feel him playing with her hair, winding the strands around his fingers absently.

“I was thinking,” Shaw said.

“Mmm . . . dangerous.”

“About what comes next.” He paused, clearly choosing his words carefully. “I don’t want the 1920s anymore.”

Luna lifted her head to look at him. “What?”

“When you first sprung me, all I wanted was to get back to my time. But I don’t want that anymore. I want this; I want you.” He gestured at the room and Oak Haven beyond the window. “Even if I don’t understand about half of what everybody says.”

“Shaw—”

“I know I don’t fit here. But I want to try. If you’ll have me.”