The room had fallen quiet. They had an audience, but Perry didn’t care. They’d spent a winter apart while she’d been at Marron’s, and then another month when she’d gone to Rim with Roar. The week they’d spent together at the Tides had been made up of stolen moments. He’d learned his lesson. He wouldn’t waste another second with her.

He took her face in his hands and kissed her. Aria made a small sound of surprise, and then he felt her relax. Her arms came around him, and what started as a brush of their lips became deeper. He gathered her close and forgot everything, everyone except her, until he heard Reef’s gruff voice behind him.

“Sometimes I forget he’s nineteen.”

“Oh, yes. Easy to do.” The gentle reply could only be from Marron.

“Not now.”

“No . . . certainly not now.”

3. Aria

3

ARIA

Aria blinked at Perry, a little overwhelmed.

Their relationship had just made a definitive shift to public, and she was unprepared for the wave of pride that swept through her. He was hers, and he was incredible, and they didn’t have to hide, or explain, or be apart anymore.

“We probably should get started with the meeting,” he said, smiling down at her.

She mumbled her agreement and forced herself away from him, trying not to look as staggered as she felt. She spotted Roar standing on the other side of the table, relief snapping her back to the present.

“Roar!” Aria rushed to his side, wrapping him in a half hug.

“Easy, there,” he said, frowning at her arm. “What happened?”

“Oh, this? I got myself shot.”

“What did you go and do that for?”

“I wanted some sympathy, I guess.”

It was their usual way with each other, teasing and light, but Aria studied him as they spoke, and what she saw brought a twist to her heart.

Though he sounded like himself, Roar’s eyes had lost all their humor. They were heavy with sadness now—a sadness he carried everywhere. In his smile. In the drape of his shoulders. Even in the way he stood, weight to one side, like his entire life was out of balance. He looked as he had a week ago, when they’d floated down the Snake River together: heartbroken.

Her attention moved past him to Marron, who made his way toward them and smiled expectantly, his blue eyes alert and lively, his cheeks ruddy and round—the very opposite of Roar’s hardened planes.

“It’s so good to see you,” Marron said, pulling her close. “We’ve all been worried.”

“It’s good to see you too.” He was soft, and he smelled so good, like rosewater and woodsmoke. She held on to him a moment longer, remembering the months she’d spent in his home over the winter after learning that her mother had died. She’d have been lost without his help.