“And yet if he hadn’t”—she lifted a hand and let her fingertips drift over the taut muscle of his forearm—“those would be my babies he’s writing home about. Me he’d be complaining of. Is that what you’d prefer?”

His arm went even tauter. “That isn’t fair, Benna.”

“What isn’t?”

“Asking a question like that when I can’t kiss you to prove what I’d prefer. I promised you’d do the next kissing.”

She didn’t know if it was the sea air or the sunshine or him, but she could nearly forget the pounding in her skull. “Maybe I will.”

That smirk she shouldn’t like so much tilted his lips. “That isn’t fair either. You’re in no condition to fully appreciate it—and I don’t want you coming away with any negative impressions that are the fault of your injury and not me.”

She highly doubted that would happen. But then, Oliver and Libby were within sight, just behind them, and she didn’t much fancy having an audience when she kissed him. For that matter, she liked the thought of his arms coming about her, which they couldn’t do while his hands were tangled with the tack.

So, for now, she simply stretched up, pressed a light kiss to his lips, and settled at his side. “There. To free you from the promise. So that next time I say something provoking, you can prove whatever you need to.”

Even that light touch sent a tingle through her. One that made her think everyone had been wrong five years ago. And Libby had been right—flying would be a good thing indeed.

Libby. A bit of the elation fluttered away at the thought of her. She looked behind them to where the Adelle skimmed along on the same breeze. She and Oliver were talking, her arms gesturing in demonstration of whatever she was saying. Ollie was grinning down at her, happy in that moment despite it all.

“What’s wrong, my love?”

She faced forward again and leaned her aching head against his shoulder, in the place that she’d come to think of as hers the other night when he’d cradled her there for hours while they waited for the doctor to return from a birthing. “I’ve a few bridges to mend, that’s all. I upset her the other day. Made her question whether we’re friends. Maybe because I wasn’t certain myself, she being my employer.”

“She won’t be that for long though, will she? If you’re staying?”

There were more questions there than the ones he asked—a probing of whether she’d meant her offhanded agreement earlier. But she had. And he had a point now. “You’re right. Without that between us, things will be different. In a good way.”