“And we’ve all seen wonders, of dark and light.”
For a while they worked in silence.
“I have a hard question,” Annika began. “I want to ask when it’s just you.”
“All right.”
“You’ve lived a long time. You’ve had people who . . .” She touched a hand to her heart. “Matter, who mean much.”
“After a while, you try not to let that happen.”
“But it does. We matter to you, not just as guardians, as warriors. We matter to you.”
He looked at her, the stunning mermaid, thought of the others, one by one. “You matter, yes.”
“How do you say good-bye?”
He set down the cloth because he understood she needed a real answer. “I’ve never found an easy way. If it’s easy, they didn’t matter.”
“Is there a way to make it easy for the one you leave?”
“Convince him he doesn’t matter. But that’s not going to work for you, Gorgeous. Not going to work with Sawyer.”
“No, I couldn’t pretend that. It would make what we have nothing.”
“He’d never believe you anyway. And he’s never going to forget you.”
“I think how it would be best if he did, then I know if he could, I would just fade away. So, I have to hold on to the wonder.”
“If anyone can, it’s you.”
“You’re my very good friend.” She turned, hugged him. “I’ll be sad to say good-bye to you. But I have two turns of the moon before . . . Oh, it’s nearly sunset. I have no time to take Riley the gelato. There are still dishes to put away. Cookies.”
Inspired, she pulled a bag of fancy cookies from the pantry. “I’ll finish if you could take these to her. She has enough time for a cookie. And they could be in her room in the morning when she’s hungry and tired.”
“I don’t think she wants—”
“Please.” Smiling, Annika held out the bag.
Doyle thought there wasn’t a man alive who could say no to that smile. “Fine.”
He carried them upstairs. At least the chore got him out of tubbing up leftovers or washing off counters—all on the duty list.
He heard Riley’s voice, caught the quick interest in it.
“Yeah, if you could do that, even better.”
/> He stepped into her room—one where books were piled everywhere, and where she’d put a nightstand into service as a small desk, which she used now to scribble notes.
Spotting Doyle, she twirled a finger in the air, jabbed it, in a sign he took to mean she was wrapping things up, to wait.
“Yeah, agreed, Atlantis is a whole different kettle. I’m happy to do that, and will first thing in the morning. Uh-huh, right. I just need a little time to put it all together for you first.”
Doyle opened the bag of cookies—it was right there—pulled one out. She kept talking while he ate, while he wandered her room, looking at the books, the maps stuck to the walls, the notes only organized by her eye.
They’d had a few words on her lack of system, but she could, indeed, put her hand on any and everything she wanted in seconds, so he’d lost that round.
The room smelled of her soap—just a faintest hint of vanilla—and the flowers Annika insisted on putting in every bedroom. Including his own.