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“They’re good at that.”

“Seems they’re good at mischief. Why is that? What makes them different?”

“Well, as the story goes, the Guinevere”—he pointed to the dark silhouette of the Shipwreck Museum and the ongoing restoration project of the original ship—“wrecked a short distance off the coast. There were kittens on board from Sherwood Forest in England.”

Her brows shot up. “You mean Robin Hood’s Sherwood Forest?”

Alistair grinned, reclining on his hands. “One and the same.”

“And they survived a shipwreck?”

“They did, as did many of the passengers. The original founders of Cat’s Paw Cove. As you can guess, many of the cats, like the townspeople, are descendants of the survivors.”

“What makes them special? And how do you know these Sherwood cats from any other cat?”

Her genuine interest in the history of the town, and the fact she wasn’t running away from the water, were a relief.

“Their masks.” Alistair crossed his ankles and drank in the sound of the lulling sea before launching his excitement into a different dimension by looking at Niera. Even confused, the woman—fae—was stunning. “All descendants of Sherwood cats have this mask around their eyes. Similar to what Hollywood depicts Robin Hood wearing. The little purse-snatcher who brought you here?” He snickered. “A Sherwood cat.”

“Because of the mask.”

Alistair leaned closer. “Because the Sherwoods are rumored to possess magical abilities, depending on the cat and its lineage. What’s in the purse?”

Niera lifted the small bag. “This? Crystals. Why?”

That explained the magical pulse he detected. “Would you care to share why you’re carrying crystals? Wouldn’t your magic suffice for whatever you need?”

She contemplated his request, shifting the hidden crystals around in the bag. Her full lips pressed together in a tight line. The silvery light of the moon cast her profile in ethereal radiance, one he found himself yearning to explore.

“I’d rather not.”

The response didn’t surprise him after her prolonged silence. If he were of sound mind—three beers and a gorgeous woodland fae apparently made him loose-tongued—he wouldn’t have asked. The magically imbued crystals told him enough. Her magic didn’t work here, or maybe it wasn’t as potent. She needed the crystals for a reason, and that reason could reveal her weakness.

Any magical creature would be wise to keep their vulnerabilities close to the heart.

“And you? What’s your gift?”

He shrugged. “Who says I possess a gift? Other than my love of the water and my skills surfing, I wouldn’t say I possess much.” He really didn’t possess any gifts of magical importance on land. He caught her attempt to hide a shiver as the wind gusted off the ocean. “Cold?”

She shook her head, but her teeth chattered. She wrapped her arms around herself, fingers white.

“Okay, maybe a little.”

Without hesitation, Alistair tugged off his sweater and handed it to the wide-eyed fae. She stared at the knitted piece before taking it from his hand.

“Aren’t you cold?”

Alistair winked. “Not at all. I’d go for a late-night swim if I wasn’t in the company of an intriguing woman who would probably reject the suggestion.”

At long last, her lips curled and the softest, sweetest sound of laughter filled the air around them. Curse him if there wasn’t magic in that melodious sound. Magic that left him reaching for her face and drawing her close. Magic that cast the rest of the world in silence, all for the calming lap of the gentle surf and the sharp intake of her breath before he pressed his lips to hers.

Magic.