“Let’s be pretty again.” Bran grabbed Sasha back, dipped her a little this time.

“I’d say you’re not tired now.” Though her pulse skipped and danced, Sasha turned to get Bran a glass.

“I’m making some progress on a spell. Not quite there, but definite progress.”

“That’s just something you don’t hear every day, is it? Progress on a spell.”

“In my world.” Bran took the wine she offered. “Whatever you’re cooking there, Sawyer, smells brilliant.”

“About ten minutes to go, and we’ll see if it tastes the same.”

“Since Annika’s the sous chef tonight, we’ll set the table.” Sasha turned, started to stack six plates, remembered. “I guess Riley’s having dinner with one of her contacts, but somebody should let Doyle know we’re about to eat.”

“I’ll take these.” Bran took the stack of five. “And let him know.”

“Maybe she’ll make it back before we sit down.”

Annika rubbed Sawyer’s arm. “You shouldn’t worry. Riley is very smart and very strong.”

Sasha thought it excellent advice, and tried to take it. By the time they’d finished the meal—with compliments to the chef and his apprentice, as there was barely a grain of rice left—the sun had set, the moon, fat and white, had risen.

“Maybe a couple of us ought to go down and look for her.”

Doyle arched eyebrows at Sawyer. “In what?”

“Your bike?”

“She doesn’t have a curfew, Daddy. If she was the damsel-in-distress sort, yeah, we could go down, slay the dragon for her. But she’s got a Beretta, a combat knife, and a badass attitude. She can take care of herself. Plus.” He wagged his beer. “If she’s hooked up with one of her contacts, she’d be pretty pissed with the white-knight routine.”

“Well, I’m worried, too. I didn’t think she meant it about not coming back tonight. And.” Sasha lifted her phone. “She’s not answering my texts.”

“She answered mine,” Bran commented.

“Yours? When?”

“Before I came down. I just sent her one that asked if all was well. She texted back: Five-by-five. Precisely that.”

“What, precisely, does five-by-five mean?”

“It’s all good,” Doyle told Sasha. “Everything’s fine.”

“She added she’d likely bunk in the village with a friend.”

“What friend?” Sasha stopped herself, huffed out a breath. “None of our business. And Doyle’s right. If anyone’s armed and dangerous, it’s Riley Gwin. I’m just jumpy because I’ve gotten used to everyone being right here.”

Sasha pushed up, grabbed empty plates. “I’m going to do the dishes until I stop being jumpy.”

When the dishes weren’t enough, she scrubbed down the kitchen. She was looking for something else to clean when she spotted Bran leaning against the door watching her.

“Still jumpy then?”

“I can’t get rid of it.”

“I have just the thing.” He grabbed a bottle of wine, two glasses, then her hand. “Come with me.”

“Where?”

“We’ll have a drink on the terrace, you and I. It’s as you said earlier, everyone seems to have closed up in their separate spaces. Maybe we all need that for a night. But you and I have another need, to my mind. We’re having a date.”