Page 39 of Between Heart and Stone

“It’s the perfect time,” he agreed. “I would watch them from the study. They breach right off the coast.”

Excitement rose within me. “Really? That’s amazing!”

Wolfe’s smile turned indulgent. “You chose well, grá. What else? Go on.”

Bolstered, I straightened in my seat. “I want a Guinness. A real one, drafted by the professionals.”

He laughed, delighted. “As is only right.”

“I want to go to the pub in town and dance. I have dinner with Tommy and his wife on Sunday. Tommy runs the general store,” I explained.

“Aye, I know. He inherited it from his father, and his father before him. He has a long family line in Bracken Bay.”

“I thought as much. The cliffs, of course. Beef stew. Ice cream from Dingle.” I was on a roll now, listing all the things I’d spent hours dreaming of.

“It is a sound list, Avery. And all of it is possible.” He stood, stool sliding back. From this angle, the sun cut through his shoulders. “We should begin.”

“Begin what?”

He held out his hand, fingers curled for mine. “Bringing you back to life.” I gaped at him, breath catching in my throat. “We’ll walk it together.”

I slid my hand against his, the hum and vibration from his soul brushing against mine. He squeezed my fingers, and I felt it to my bones. I beamed at him, the cloud of loneliness around my heart lifting.

“Together, then.”

Chapter 12

Wolfe

He hadn’t realized how much color he’d been missing.

The veil made the world muted, grainy.

Standing here now… He couldn’t tear his eyes away.

Not from the endless blue-green of the sea. The rich, gray stone that paved his way from room to room. The dark, lacquered wood of the mantle or the tables.

And certainly, it had shielded him from the exact shade of blue in Avery’s eyes. Glaciers in the arctic, perhaps. A dawn-blue just before the sun rose and set.

He almost wished for the mists, if only to keep his head on straight.

Now that he saw her, he couldn’t unsee her.

Everything inside him told him to look away, and yet…

He tracked her around the room. The way she wandered down the hallways, the tight ball she curled into on the couch to read, firelight flickering over her jaw.

He was dead, but all of him felt alive.

Saturday morning they walked the cliffs together. The wind tore at him, rippling his shirt and hair. The air was bracing, biting at his cheeks. They should have been flushed with blood, with exertion, but one touch to his cheek revealed only cold skin left behind.

Avery, on the other hand, was wrapped in color. A dark green jacket that did something strange and haunting to her eyes. Her cheeks were flushed a lovely rose-petal red. Her hair was untameable, ripping from her braid and whipping across her face. Her lips were pink, slick with moisture from her tongue.

In all his years—living and dead—he’d never been so distracted by someone before.

Her laugh tangled in the sea air, raining back down on them both. She’d asked him to tell her about his brother, Patty.

“Where do I begin?” he’d asked, tone dry.