“Hey,” she said. And if Greta hadn’t known there were people around them, she would’ve sworn there was no one else in the universe. She lost herself in Carys’ whiskey-gold eyes and heard herself say hi back. But all she could pay attention to was the soft kiss Carys pressed to her lips. She tasted of berries and smoke and the honey that was just her mouth, and Greta wished they could live in that kiss forever.

“Drink?” Helen asked, holding a teacup out to Greta.

“Thanks. What is it?”

“Blackberry lemonade with a little moonshine thrown in for sparkle.”

They went inside the house, and when they were gone, Carys whispered, “A lot of sparkle.”

“My aunt taught me how to make it,” Veronica said.

“You know how to make moonshine?”

“I know how to make anything you want.” Veronica waved an elegant hand, and Greta believed her.

“Carys was telling me about your beekeeping. I’d love to see that sometime, if you ever want any help.”

“Sure. Come along tomorrow, if you want.”

“Really? Yeah, I’d love to.”

Helen came back onto the porch and set a bowl of water in front of Horse.

Greta thanked her and settled onto the bench with Carys, looping Horse’s leash loosely around her foot.

The drink tasted like berries and fire and summer, and Greta was instantly obsessed. “This is amazing. You should bottle it!”

“Right? This is what I’ve been telling them,” Carys agreed. “Y’all need to just open a restaurant, seriously.”

Veronica and Helen exchanged a look that said they’d discussed this.

“Opening a restaurant is a hard-core nightmare,” Helen said.

“We love life too much to ruin ours,” Veronica agreed. “However, we should find a way to sell this stuff to someone who wants to stock it in bars and serve it at local restaurants. Maybe after king cake season.”

“Well, if you want any help, I’d love to,” Greta said. “My family has a business, and I’ve worked there, like, since I was born, so if I can do anything—I mean, if I…I dunno, if I end up back here ever.”

She let the sentence linger in the air, trying it out for the first time.

“You think you might end up coming back?” Carys asked.

The newfound sense of possibility from before still lingered, but Greta didn’t want to freak Carys out.

“Yeah, I…I hate Owl Island. I mean, it’s lovely in its way, but. I was just talking to my sister, and she said there’s no reason to live somewhere forever just because you were born there. And I kinda never thought of it like that. But she’s right. Right?”