Page 72 of A Memory Not Mine (Sanguis Amantium #1)

Chapter sixty- six

Baird

B aird made his way up the stone path that wound behind the cottage to the new studio nestled just above it.

Built from the same weathered stone as the original structure, it wore the same slate roof and sat so naturally against the hillside that, unless you knew the island well, you might believe it had always been there.

Light spilled from the studio’s windows—three walls of them—casting golden shapes onto the grass outside. The Dutch door stood half-open, its cheerful yellow paint matching the trim on the cottage below. If Mira was inside, the top half of the door was always open.

And it was.

He spotted her through the wide glass—hair swept back, face intent, a heavy apron shielding her from the chemicals she worked with. A torch blazed in one hand, flickering and fierce, the hissing blue flame held steady in her grip like something wild she alone could tame.

Music played from somewhere unseen, the soft thrum of it curling out into the warm afternoon air. She moved with it, hips swaying slightly, a rhythm all her own. She was entirely absorbed in her process—focused, precise, utterly alive.

He thought she looked like a creature out of myth: part alchemist, part enchantress. A fire-breathing dragon in her hand, flame and precious metal at her command.

He leaned against the doorframe, content to watch. She hadn’t noticed him yet. She never did when she was lost in creation.

That was something he understood about her, perhaps better than most—this need to make , to shape the world with her hands. It was a refuge for her introverted soul, time and place to regenerate.

So he stayed at the threshold, silent. Waiting for her to notice him.

He still tended the cattle and worked his fields, his own quiet way of shaping the world, he supposed. Different than Mira’s—but similar in its devotion. His daily routine hadn’t changed much in the year they’d been together.

But his life had. Completely.