Stars of Fortune (The Guardians Trilogy 1)

“Shortly.” Bran ran his hands down from Sasha’s shoulders, along her arms, then stepped back to the stove to put the pan he’d had the wit to take off the flame back again.

“Good. Starved.”

“I . . . need a watering can.”

Sasha turned quickly, aimed for the doors.

Riley shook her head at Bran, then a long glance at the dog sent Apollo trotting outside. “Office romances, Irish, sticky business and usually get somebody fired.”

“Lucky then, isn’t it, we’re not being paid.” He gave the potatoes a turn.

Sasha doubted the morning air would cool her skin, her blood, but she needed a moment just to stand in it, try to settle.

What should she do now? How did she behave now? He’d changed everything. Or no, she admitted, he’d pushed it along the path.

She looked over at the promontory, thought of the storm.

Apollo brushed up to her, nuzzled his great head under her hand. After her absent stroke, he raced off.

She needed to focus, Sasha warned herself. To concentrate on what needed to be done, not what she wished could be. Others depended on her keeping her balance, so—

She glanced over at the sound of laughter, watched Annika run in circles with the dog. She twirled, executing three very impressive cartwheels that had the dog letting out deep, joyful barks.

Sasha couldn’t stop the smile, and couldn’t stop the wish she could be just that free, just that carelessly happy she’d turn cartwheels on soft spring grass.

With a sigh, she turned toward the table. Stopped dead.

The plates fashioned a tower—four balanced on their rims holding the fifth, with a glass filled with wildflowers atop it.

She’d balanced the flatware as well, crossing pieces like swords to form a kind of arbor, and under it grass, clover, buttercups twined together. A shrubbery, Sasha realized, fascinated and charmed.

She’d draped napkins around the tall salt and pepper mills, like capes, and formed more grass into crowns to top them. Other napkins flowed out—bright blue. The sea, Sasha thought.

Glowing from her game with Apollo, Annika ran back.

“I set the table.”

“I see. It’s wonderful. A castle by the sea.”

“The rulers are giants,” Annika began. “Sawyer!” There was a joy—like cartwheels—in the single word.

“Yeah, morning.” He came out barefoot, gulping coffee, then studied the table presentation. “Wow.”

“Do you like it?”

“Very cool.”

“Breakfast’s up,” Riley announced, carrying out a platter loaded with bacon, eggs, potatoes, toast. She set it down, studied Annika’s work.

“Nice.”

Bran followed her out with the pitcher of juice, a pot of coffee. They all stood, studying the castle.

“Is it wrong?” Annika asked.

“Not at all,” Bran told her. “In fact it’s lovely and fun. We’re all wishing we didn’t have to take it down so we can eat.”

“Oh, I can make another. The food smells good.”