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I wanted to seize him, to smack him. I wanted to slam the door in his face. I wanted to grab that face. I wanted to hug him and shred his clothes. I wanted to curse his ears off and tell him how much I’d missed him. I wanted to hope. I wanted to resist.

To hell with all that.

I crossed my arms. “Can I help you, Sir?”

Pensive, his eyes flitted across the room to me. “I’ve heard a weaponsmith lives here. They call her the Timber Girl of Autumn.”

“She’s not open for business.” I appraised his body as though I’d never laid eyes on it before. “On the other hand, I might be persuaded. You can call me Aspen.”

“A pleasure, Aspen. My name is Aire.”

“What’s your story, Aire?”

He withdrew his sword from the scabbard at his waist and balanced it flat across his upturned palms. “I fear I’ve outgrown this blade and may need something new. Your opinion on the matter would be of great assistance.”

That would require getting close to him.

I sauntered just near enough to evaluate the weapon, if not by actually testing it, at least by looks. I tilted my head, feeling the soft stroke of his eyes along my cheek.

“It has the appearance of a superior design,” I said, my words quavering at the edges. “I’m not sure anything I can offer would live up to that.”

“I disagree,” he whispered, his breath on my temple.

“From what I see, there’s nothing wrong with it. Why do you want a new one?” I swallowed the nuts in my throat. “Why did you come to me?”

He took another step, his answer springing from a place deep inside. “Because I’m in love.”

Warmth bloomed in my face, behind my eyes, down my neck. I ran my digits along the hilt, approaching his hand and then skimming his wrist, then his fingers.

His naked fingers.

He’d removed the ring.

I imagined it tucked someplace special, someplace safe, someplace private between them. And that was okay. Loving her had made him who he was, and I loved who he was. I hadn’t expected or wanted him to forget that life. I’d just wanted him to live on, to live another life.

Happy, new, restored.

I hadn’t dared to wish for this, for him right here, right now. I hadn’t dared to wish that his voice would ever shape those words.

“Have you ever lied, Sir Aire?” I asked.

“Once,” he answered quietly. “To the girl who stole my heart.”

“A thief, too? You sure know how to pick them.”

“But I did not pick her.” He sheathed the sword. “She is not a marionette, simply to be picked. Rather, I yearned for her even while I denied her. Even as I fell in love with her. Even as I went mad for her, delirious for her. Even then, I made the wrong choice. I’ve been a fool.”

“You’re not the only one.”

“That makes us well-suited.”

With a teary grin, I peeked at him. The wind flung his blond hair about. His glistening eyes stared back.

“If you want my expertise, I’m a costly girl,” I sniffled.

“Name your price, and I shall pay.” His thumb traced my chin, the circle of my beauty mark, the tip of my nose. “I shall take to both knees and grovel, if you request it. I’ll scale this cottage or bring you a parcel of marshmallows every day—”

“Expensive ones are my favorite.”