Influenced by Eva Robinson (best free ebook reader TXT) 📗

her hand. Stella was a single mom of three, and she’d somehow found the time to bake strawberry tarts with berries from the garden? “Impressive.” Hannah took a bite, her tongue delighting at the sweet custard and the tart berries. She needed this, actually, to soak up some of the wine.

Stella shrugged. “I always need to bake when I have parties. Peter has a severe nut allergy. I got donuts once from a bakery, and we had to EpiPen him then spend the night in the ER. Not a fun end to a party. And speaking of anxiety, I should check on my kids. I’m so glad you could come, though, Hannah!”

“I’m glad to help.”

Rowan caught Hannah’s eye, then nodded at the smoking man again. He sat about twenty feet away from them, oblivious to all the gossip.

Hannah grabbed a second strawberry tart, then started crossing the grass toward Daniel. As she approached, he turned and caught her eye.

And Rowan was right—completely. He looked younger than she’d expected, with large, dark eyes, dark hair and thick eyebrows, a trim beard. He smiled at her.

Hannah lifted one of the tarts and asked, “Do you want one of these? It’s the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”

“I’d love one.” Even his accent was gorgeous. “Care to join me? I’ve been left all alone.”

She took the seat next to him and dropped the tart on the wide wooden arm of his chair. “I’m Hannah.”

“Daniel. Lovely to meet you.”

“Someone told me you made the sculptures?”

“Oh, yes.” He lifted his cigarette and pointed at one. “And that one seems to be staring at us. It’s a little disconcerting.”

Hannah peered through the shadows at a stone statue of a woman. She seemed to rise from the ground, her skirts swirling around her. Amazing that he could make stone and moss look so delicate. “Does she have a name?”

“Melusine. A beautiful and vengeful water spirit.”

“And what did she want revenge for?”

“For men disappointing her and breaking their promises. Again and again.”

“A tale as old as time. Did you make up the character?”

Lantern light glinted in his dark eyes, and he smiled. “Oh, no, she’s an old legend.”

“I noticed you said she was staring at you. And if she’s a spirit of vengeance, I’m wondering if you feel guilty for something.”

“Do you think that’s what it means?”

“Well, it’s just that people interpret ambiguous stimuli based on their core beliefs—” Oh no. She was doing that thing, the one where she got nervous and started babbling academic jargon. “Sorry, what I meant was, maybe you’re ruminating on vengeance a bit because you feel conflicted about something.”

Unlike her, he wasn’t actually eating his tart. “Are you a psychologist, by any chance?”

“Is it that obvious?”

He leaned closer. “I think psychology is fascinating. I have a book about Jung, with big color pictures of his art. His mandalas.”

Jung had believed he was inhabited by the spirit of a fourth-century gnostic. Jung was psychotic. “He was definitely an interesting person. Maybe more of an artist than a scientist.”

Daniel arched an eyebrow. “Why do I feel like you think that’s a bad thing? Am I being judged?”

She laughed. “No, of course not. The world needs both. Like your sculptures and the living things growing on them.”

Hannah was now deciding that not only was Daniel beautiful, but she felt immediately drawn to him. She’d only just met him, but already Hannah wanted to know where he was from, what the street looked like where he grew up. What his parents were like, and what he ate. What he did before he went to sleep at night, what his ideal woman was like, what he dreamt about, and how he drank his coffee.

But she’d start with one question at a time. “And where did you get the idea for moss?”

“I’m inspired by folklore, always. In German folklore, there are people called the Moosleute. The moss people. Some said they were demons, or nightmare creatures. They’re the old and wild side of us. Primal things. And it’s nice when art is a little bit alive, isn’t it?”

At this point, she’d totally forgotten about Luke. “Well, Stella is very lucky to have these nightmare creatures in her yard.”

He smiled. “I’m too scared to ask for them back. She looks delicate, but she can be very intimidating.”

“Rowan said she met you in Paris. What do you think of Boston? How does it compare?”

“I like it. There’s a lot of natural beauty. But I still have to see a lot more. Have you been to Walden Pond?” he asked. “Where Thoreau lived?”

“I have, yes. I went skinny-dipping there, in fact.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she could feel her cheeks going red. “A long time ago.” It had been in high school, and on her own. She’d heard the other kids had gone the weekend before, and she hadn’t been invited, so she drove out on her own.

“I haven’t been there yet.”

“Oh, it’s lovely and peaceful there. Especially in the spring, before the schools are out.” The humid spring breeze kissed her cheeks, and she could feel herself blushing. With the quiet music and beads of golden light around her, this seemed like a perfect moment. She was herself again—not just a mom filling up sippy cups, not a glorified personal assistant running from room to room delivering cell phones to teenagers. “I was thinking of going Sunday.”

“Oh? Maybe I could meet you there?”

In this moment, she felt like maybe a world of adventure was still possible, and euphoria warmed her skin like sunlight. “Yes. Absolutely. There’s a lot to see in Concord.”

Before she could say another word, the sound of footfalls turned her head.

Rowan was walking closer, hips swaying. She arched an eyebrow, moving right for them, and already, Hannah could feel her stomach falling.

That was the problem with euphoria—it always came with a crash.

With a feeling like dread sliding up her spine, she was sure she already knew what would happen next, because it