Carys’ lips were salt and sugar, her mouth a luscious play of give and take. The kiss was sweet until it went dark and hungry, Carys’ tongue sliding against her own and sending shivers through her legs and guts, tingling between her legs.

Now falling off the overpass seemed a possibility for an entirely different reason.

One of Carys’ hands was at the small of her back, dragging them together, and the other slid into her hair, tugging just enough to make her gasp.

Greta slid her hand to the nape of Carys’ neck, desperate to feel the satin slip of her curls. She felt the curve of Carys’ skull under her fingertips and tipped Carys’ head back to kiss her more deeply.

The kiss crested and then they broke apart, panting, resting their foreheads together.

“Damn,” Carys said as Greta breathed, “Wow.”

Carys’ grin was everything.

They looked into each other’s eyes for a long moment, then Carys pressed a sweet kiss to the corner of Greta’s mouth.

“I hate to leave. Seriously. I hate it.” Her gaze raked Greta’s body hotly. “But I have to go change if I’m gonna make my tour.”

Greta nodded. “Sure. Of course. Totally cool.” She winced, but Carys just smiled. “I might stay here for a minute,” Greta said, not trusting her legs to carry her down the stairs.

“Okay. You know how to get home from here?”

“No clue, but I have Google Maps on my phone.”

“God bless Google Maps,” Carys agreed. She paused. “Can I see you again?”

“Yes. Yes, please,” Greta said. She’d never meant anything so much in her life. “You have my number.” And, damn, but Carys really, really did.

“Yay,” Carys said softly. “Bye, Greta.”

On her lips, Greta sounded like a promise, a flower, a name all her own.

Chapter 6

Truman

What would you say if I told you I think I might be staying in a house that Agatha Tark once lived in? Truman wrote in the group chat.

I’d say you suffer from an excess of hope, Charlotte wrote.

Really??? How can you tell?? wrote Germaine.

Truman smiled. They were precisely the responses he’d expected.

He told them about the ceiling and the way it reminded him of the healing hut in The Heart Flowers (book five, in which Clarion has a brief but necessary tryst with a bearling, which strengthens her heart enough that she doesn’t give up on her quest). (Charlotte: circumstantial; Germaine: Whoa!!)

He saved the ship for last.

Pics, Charlotte wrote.

He sent pictures.

Germaine replied with a key smash and a selfie with their eyes open comically wide, making a mind-blown gesture.

Charlotte responded, Hmm.

Truman rolled his eyes. He adored Charlotte. But sometimes her skepticism bordered on bummer.

Is there any local history of similar inlays in the architecture? Maybe it’s a coastal tradition or signifies something about certain types of houses?