She wouldn’t have thought Zivon a runner. And yet, perhaps it explained that way he moved—almost without friction, it seemed. Lily quickly adjusted the focus and light settings on her camera and had it in position by the time the men drew near enough. Her fingers trailed the cord, found the push-pin.

Her eyes gauged the world. The way the sunlight streamed down, fresh and bright, dappling shadows on the ground as it played hide-and-seek with the leaves. She waited for the men to lope into a patch of pure sunshine, smiling when she saw they were laughing together over something. Perfect. She pressed the pin, her heart whirring along with the film. The perfect moment. She always knew when she’d found one. Nothing quickened her spirit quite like a well-timed photograph.

And not a moment too soon. The men slowed to a walk now. Clarke motioned toward the park entrance, and Marin seemed to be fishing around in his pocket for something. A watch, she saw a moment later.

“What was their pace?” Lily asked her sister, since she’d apparently known when to expect them by again.

Ivy’s cheeks were that pretty rose color that meant she knew well she’d been paying more attention than a casual acquaintance really needed to do. “If they were running the mile, as I assume, then just over six minutes.” She straightened quickly, all but slamming the window back down. “Come on. If we hurry, we can happen by the entrance as they’re leaving, and they can offer to walk us home.”

6

Lily’s chest went oddly tight. She laughed to cover it up. “Ivy, really. They’re coming for dinner tomorrow.”

“So?”

“So . . .” Her sister was already grabbing her bag and hat and hurrying toward the door. Lily leapt to keep up. “Did it not occur to you that they may not want to walk us home after running four miles? They probably want nothing more than to get home themselves and bathe.”

“Oh, bah.” Ivy shot a grin over her shoulder. “I say we’ll learn a bit more about their mettle if we surprise them in such a moment. And wouldn’t you rather discover now whether they react well to the unexpected, rather than months into courtships?”

“There are no courtships.” But the words were more a mumble than an insistence. Because there no doubt would be a courtship if Ivy made it clear—which she was obviously doing—that she wanted one. Clarke would be an amusingly besotted fool by the end of Easter dinner, if he wasn’t already.

What lit a spark of unease in her chest was that Ivy seemed to think that one courtship meant two courtships.

“Ivy . . .”

“Hurry up, Lil.” Ivy was already dashing down the stairs.