The three of them hit the beach just as a second, much more powerful gust of wind whistled over their heads. Rory’s eyes watered as he squinted at the water, just as the wind dove into the waves beyond the rocks, revealing the rocky bottom like he’d blown into a glass of milk with a straw.

Rory registered the black specks in the air just in time to cover his head as a flurry of fish hit the shore around them, smacking his head and neck, cold and slimy.

He wiped himself off, cursing. He looked from the creatures flopping on the rocks next to him to Sasha, who had trash in her hair, to Pavel, who had mud on his face, and cringed.

“Oops.”

Chapter Two

It was late afternoon when Rory got back to Hell’s Kitchen, the ring in its box in his pocket where it was going to stay, because he was hopeless and no one needed him to meet Baron Zeppler as the Useless King of the Uncontrolled Wind. The one small mercy: when he’d thought about Arthur, the ring had come right off for him.

He opened the antiques shop’s front door. “I’m back, Mrs. B,” he called over the jangling bell.

Mrs. Brodigan was alone in the shop, standing behind the cash register counter, the kettle on the hot plate and two mugs already out. “Hello, dear.” She smiled, genuine but with something uncertain around the edge. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Her voice was warm as ever, but there was a note in it that made Rory’s shoulders tense. “What’s going on?”

She had tea out with the mugs, the good tea, the expensive one from Ireland that her fella Mr. McIntyre brought her. “I was hoping to talk to you.”

His heart began to pound. “Is someone making trouble?” Could be all sorts of trouble—unhappy customer, unhappy paranormal, unhappy police who’d finally discovered there was no Rory Brodigan, just a Theodore Giovacchini who’d run away from the Hyde Gardens Asylum four years back.

But she shook her head. “It’s not trouble,” she promised, as she poured hot water over tea bags. “Not like that.”

She held out a mug and he took it, the hot drink comforting in his usually cold hands. She always used tea to soften hard news, and Rory always fell for it. “Then what?”

She took a breath. “Mr. McIntyre has asked me to marry him.”

Rory’s eyes widened. “But that’s great news,” he said, his heart brightening for her.

She smiled, more genuinely. “It is,” she said. “I want to say yes.”

“You haven’t said yes yet? Come on, why not? He’s crazy about you, and you adore him—”

“Because I also want to close the shop.”

Rory’s world screeched to a halt.