“Really?” Perhaps she oughtn’t to have sounded so happy about it. It made Mabena roll her eyes and storm ahead. But the kitten let Libby pick it up and cuddle it under her chin. So it was worth it.

8

The wind whispered in his ear, luring his feet toward the shore. Oliver would have obeyed it even if he hadn’t been on the path already, his gaze set on Enyon’s familiar form down at the water. “Ahoy!” he called when close enough that there was a prayer his friend would hear him.

Enyon straightened, turned, and lifted a hand in greeting. At his feet rested the little one-man gig he always used for a bit of pleasure rowing, which meant he hadn’t been running all the way to another island, just about Tresco, or perhaps over to Bryher to visit his sister. Given the fine mist that had been falling all day, Oliver was a bit surprised he’d been out at all. Enyon had always preferred a sunny day for his errands, when one was to be had.

“And what brings the good vicar down here twelve hours before his next sermon?” Enyon grinned at him, wiping a hand over his face to rid it of the mist.

Oliver lifted his brows. “I’ll have you know I’ve finished my sermon. Mostly.”

His friend chuckled, then nodded toward his gig. “Help me carry it up?”

Rather than waste words on an answer, Oliver grabbed an end. The larger craft were kept anchored in the quay, but the locals tended to store their smaller boats well above the waterline overnight.

At Enyon’s grunt, they lifted it in tandem. “What does bring you here though? You’re usually not to be peeled away from your desk on a Saturday evening.”

Sermons were not his favorite part of his job and required by far the most effort, perhaps because he spent far more time visiting parishioners and contemplating what truths he might work into a sermon someday than crafting one for that week. But after the last few days, he wasn’t all that concerned with whether he bored the congregation to tears. “I’ve been trying to catch you up since Wednesday.”

“Ah. Sorry. You knew I had to make that overnight trip to the mainland on Thursday, didn’t you?”

Oliver blinked against the mist and moved for the boathouse used by half a dozen families. “I’d forgot, honestly. I’ve been a bit distracted, worrying over Beth.” He wouldn’t confess it to just anyone. But this was Enyon.

They slid the gig into its spot in the boathouse. When Oliver turned, he found his friend’s face lined with a concern to match his own. “About what? Is she still plotting how to go to London for the Season?”