I woke up before Killian the next morning, to sunlight streaming in through the bedroom window, and found my clothes folded neatly next to the bed. I looked over at him, sprawled out his back, arms spread wide, and couldn't help but smile. He was so sexy with the sun highlighting his muscular chest and making his auburn hair look redder than it was. If he hadn't looked so peaceful I would have climbed on top of him and woke him up for some morning sex. Instead I slipped out of bed, got dressed, and made some coffee. When it was ready I took my cup outside and sat in a chair on the stone patio so I could watch a rather sparse looking fleet of fishing boats as they headed out to sea.

Killian stumbled out about fifteen minutes later, yawning and stretching and, oddly, wearing a baseball cap.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," I greeted him. He pulled a chair up right next to mine and plopped down, leaning over to kiss my shoulder. God he was sweet like that, all boyishly drowsy. "What's with the cap?"

"It's my disguise," he said, his voice thick and slow with sleep. "You know, for the beach and the market. We should get going soon, it'll be less crowded earlier."

There was a little back and forth with Dan, the driver, and another member of the security team before we left, but I was already in the car and I didn't catch any of it. Killian must have won, though, because soon we were on our way. We didn't go into the town I'd arrived in the day before. Instead we went to another quaint little village, so picture-perfect I was immediately imagining a whole life there.

"What's this place called again?" I asked as Killian and I walked along the white, sandy beach that the village had been built around. "It's beautiful. I can't believe how blue the water is, I thought the ocean only looked like this in tropical places."

"St. Maves. It's actually kind of famous as an artist's colony – there are a number of famous Rhennish painters who have lived here, it's supposed to be something about the quality of the light. When the fishing industry died down even more artists moved in, now it's almost all potters and painters."

I looked out over the beach and the turquoise blue water, instantly recognizing what Killian was saying about the light. There weren't too many people around that early on a Saturday and the security team were hanging back, dressed casually and blending in well. We knelt down next to little tidal pools and Killian turned over some rocks, showing me the tiny orange crabs that lived underneath and laughing when I shrieked as one scuttled across my hand. He identified the seaweeds, too, showing me which ones were edible. It was one of those crisp, sunshine-filled fall days, the kind that make you ache with how perfect they are. We wandered the beach for a long time, holding hands, Killian bending down to kiss me every now and again and comment on the way the sun was bringing out my freckles. And after the beach, we went to the fish market and bought a few pink-scaled fish that had just been brought in.

"We'll have to make fish pie," he said as we walked back to the car. "Well, you'll have to make fish pie. Every woman should be able to make a decent fish pie."

I wrinkled my nose at him. "Oh yeah? I don't know about that, you seem like more of a cook than me."

"Nah, I'm not the cook. I'm the intrepid, manly hunter. I bring the food home for my woman to cook."

I laughed. "The intrepid hunter, huh? Is that what you're doing with all those carrots at Smythson? Hunting them?"

"Fair point," Killian conceded. "But I'm serious about the fish pie. No man worth his salt would ever marry a woman who couldn't make fish pie, Eva. You don't want to end up all alone, do you?"

He was messing with me but I didn't mind. In fact I quite liked being messed with by Killian Chatham-Hayes. Before I could make a smart-alecky comeback he leaned down close to my ear and whispered:

"Actually, you'd probably be fine. No woman with such magnificent tits will ever be alone, even if she can't cook."

"Killian!" I whacked him on the arm but he dodged away just in time, grinning.

When we were in the car, about to head back to Annesly, he suddenly ordered Dan to stop the car and turned to me. "Hey, this is Pamela Martin's studio – she's a famous Rhennish potter. Let's go inside, I want to buy you a piece to remember the day by."

"Sir," Dan cut in, "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Dan – look around. There's no one here. No one knows I'm here. We'll be ten minutes."

Killian moved to open a door and Dan put up his hand. "Wait. Sir, please, just give me five minutes."

Killian relented and sat back, shaking his head. "Sorry, Eva. These guys are paid to be paranoid. Just let them check the studio out, make sure there aren't any assassins around, and then we can go inside."

I watched out the window as members of the security detail, riding in another car behind the one we were in, got out and went into the shop, one of them staying back and checking out the street. A few minutes later one of them came out and gave Dan the nod, who in turn gave Killian the nod. "Alright, Sir. Make it quick if you can, you know these unplanned stops are a nightmare."

"Will do," Killian assured him, grabbing my hand and leading me into the potter's studio. I marveled at the shelves of mugs and bowls and pots of various sizes and shapes, all of them painted in natural colors, a lot of blues and creams and grays. On one shelf there was a fat little jar with a lid that caught my eye. I picked it up and turned it over in my hands, enjoying the roundness of it.

"A sugar jar," Killian said. "What do you think? Do you like the colors?"

I did. It was a deep blue-green, the same color as the sea at St. Maves.

"There's a spoon that comes with it, too," a female voice said behind us. We turned around to a middle-aged woman with long, silver-grey hair and a kind smile. When she saw Killian she curtsied, slightly awkwardly, and blushed. It wasn't often that I saw middle-aged women blushing at the mere presence of a younger man. "Prince Killian," she said, "I'm so glad you took the time to visit my studio. Please, look around, and feel free to ask me any questions – either of you."

Killian nodded at her, a little curtly, and turned back to me. We explored the shop for a little while longer but I could feel Dan hovering by the door and I didn't see anything I liked quite as much as the cute little sugar pot. In the end, that was the piece I chose, and Pamela Martin herself carefully wrapped up all three pieces in tissue paper and put them in a box. "Enjoy it, dear. My pieces are meant to be used as well as displayed. Thank you so much for coming – I – Prince Killian, I just wanted to say thank-you again for dropping by. It's – it's lovely to see you. In the studio, I mean."

She was as flustered as a school girl – as flustered as I myself had been that day on Cambridge Street when I'd looked up and seen the Prince of Rhenland peering down at me. When we were back in the car I held my new sugar jar on my lap and grinned at Killian. "I think she was in love with you. Did you see how red her face was? Why were you so standoffish?"

"I wasn't standoffish," he replied. "I was just professional. She knows who I am, obviously, and when I'm interacting with the public I have to maintain a certain aloofness, if that makes sense. You never know who's going to lose their shit and start screaming like a kid at a Bieber concert – sometimes it's the people you'd least suspect."

"Really?" I asked. "She didn't seem like the type of woman to do that – and we were in her studio, looking at her work. I've had to do makeup for some pretty famous people before, but I know how to control myself, I know not to go all fan-girl on them."

"Oh it's nothing against her in particular," Killian shrugged. "I'm sure she's a perfectly nice woman. I just – I don't expect you to understand this, Eva, but I've definitely had to deal with hysterical women before and it's just best avoided."

"Hmm," I mused. "Patronizing and conceited!"

Killian gave me a stern-but-affectionate look. "I didn't mean it like that, you goofball. I meant you wouldn't understand because you don't have to, you know? And believe it or not, I'm well aware that the reactions I get have very little to do with me. If I was Killian Smith from down the road, even if I looked and sounded and acted exactly the same as I do now, no one would be losing their minds when they met me. But I'm not Killian Smith, am I? I'm the Prince. And people can be really odd about that, it's just part of the deal."

"OK," I conceded, smiling. "Maybe you're only a little conceited."

"A little?" he teased, casually running one hand up my thigh as we drove back to Annesly. "Well I guess that's better than completely conceited, right? I'm surprised you can stand to be around me!"

He was looking me in the eyes and his fingers really were quite high up my leg. I was very aware of the driver, Dan, in the front seat – and the other car behind us – but I couldn't help it, Killian was too gorgeous. I pulled him down for a quick kiss that turned almost immediately into a not-so-quick kiss, one that left me slightly out of breath.

"Well," I whispered, "even if you're conceited, you have other uses."

He chuckled. "You're damn right I do. My vegetable growing skills, for one. Soup-making. Scaling cliffs with American girls hanging off me. I'm not completely useless, it's true."

He was hard, I could see it standing out against his pants. I had to turn my gaze away because just looking at it made my insides feel like they were melting. It was amazing that he could do that to me – amazing and a little scary, if I'm honest. In the past, with other men, I've felt something like the things Killian made me feel. But it was never so automatic, never so out of my own control. Part of me loved the affect he had on me. Part of me just wanted to dissolve into girlish acquiescence whenever he looked at me. Another part – the more sensible, rational part of my mind – was still trying to blare out warning signals that this was all dangerous. So very, very dangerous.

When we got back to Annesly, Killian pulled me inside and pushed me up against the door, kissing me hard.

"Jesus Christ, Eva. What are you doing to me? If that drive had taken any longer I would have attacked you in the car."

He was using that tone again – being serious, but in a jokey way. I looked up into his eyes, not feeling jokey at all. "You think I don't feel the same?" I asked, hooking my fingers over his belt and pulling gently. "I can't even look at you without – without –"

When I trailed off, unsure of how to finish the sentence, Killian put his hand on my belly and slid it down, into my pants, into my panties and then between my legs and all I could do was lean my head back against the door and gasp softly.

"Without getting so wet you can't breathe?" he asked, still looking me in the eye as he worked his fingers between my lips.

"Yeah," I breathed, pushing my hips down against his touch. "And – Killian, it's... It's kind of, oh my God. It's kind of scary."

"Scary?" he asked, slipping a single finger into me and curling it forward until I was worried I wouldn't be able to stand up for much longer. "What do you mean?"

"Killian," I squeaked, closing my eyes. "I can't – I can't talk about this when you're doing – mmm, Killian – when you're doing that."

He slid his free hand around the back of my neck and leaned in close to my ear. "You can't talk, Eva? Do you have any fucking idea what it does to me when you're like this? When I can hear that tone in your voice? When I can feel you like this, all slippery and wet and open for me? Fuck, I'm so hard right now."

"Yeah, but –" I paused to exhale heavily as he kissed my neck and slid a second finger into me. "But isn't it, um, ohhh Killian... Isn't that kind of scary? In a way?"

He surprised me by immediately agreeing. "Of course it is. But what are we supposed to do? What am I supposed to do when you look at me like you're looking at me right now? When you need me like this? Am I supposed to say no? Am I supposed to be sensible? Because I can't, Eva. I can't. Not with you."

"Wait," I gasped, pushing him away just before the last tiny remnants of my control disappeared. "Wait, Killian."

"What is it?"

I opened my mouth and nothing came out. He was right. What could he do? What could I do with those dark blue hunter's eyes boring into me, with him right there in front of me and my body screaming at me to shut up, to stop talking, to give in to myself – and to him. I smiled and ran my fingers down his neck and over his substantial shoulders. "You know what?" I replied. "I can't talk about this right now. I can't. Maybe –"

"Maybe when you don't need my dick so much you can't even speak in full sentences?"

"Yeah, maybe then –"

Killian took me by the hand, led me into the bedroom and told me to lie down.

And I did it. I crawled onto the bed and lay down on my back, letting one hand wander down between my legs while he stood there watching me.

"You know what I love, Eva?" he asked, undressing. "You want to know what I fucking love?"

"What?" I whispered, deciding I couldn't wait for him to take my clothes off and unbuttoning my pants, lifting my hips up so I could slip them – and my panties – down over my hips.

"I love the way you look when you're like this. Don't ever look at me like that in public, OK? Promise me. Because if you ever do, I'm not going to be able to stop myself from taking you right then and there. And that could get very embarrassing for both of us."

He was down to his boxer-briefs, not that they were doing a damned thing to hide the state he was in. His cock was so rigid I could see every detail, every contour. The head was resting against his hip as he glanced down. "Look at this. I've got wet spots because of you. Eva! Fuck!"

An agonizing twinge of thick, hot desire ran through my sex as Killian shucked off the last of his clothing and his cock, stiff and perfect, sprang free. There it was. Proof. Proof of how badly he wanted me. I'm not sure anything has ever made me hotter. I nudged my finger over my clit while he watched, wrapping his hand around himself.

"Careful," he warned. "Be careful, Eva."

"I don't want to be careful," I responded, spreading my lips open so he could see me. "I don't. I just – Killian, please. I just want you."

"Do you?" he asked, grinning as he settled himself between my legs. "Is this what you want?"

"Yes," I sighed, pushing myself up against him and reaching down.

He grabbed my hand. "Not yet."

"Killian!"

He cupped one of my breasts and brought the nipple to his mouth, running his tongue just over the tip. "I'm not even kidding, Eva. Not yet. I need to cool down for a minute."

"Oh?" I asked. "Is that what this is? Cooling down?"

"Mmm, close enough."

I felt my body tighten when he finally guided the head of his cock between my lips, anticipating the feeling of him opening me up. It didn't come. He pushed himself up to my clit and my hands clutched uselessly at the sheets. "Killian, please..."

"Please what?" he growled quietly into my ear, sliding himself back down and then back up again. "Please what, baby? What do you want?"

My eyes rolled back into my head when he dragged himself over my clit again and the nagging insistence in my sex, the feeling of an absence, of wanting to be full of him, turned into a distinct ache. "Killian –"

"This is what I want," he whispered, catching my eyes as he tormented me. "This. You. The way you are right now. I want you like this all the time."

I felt like I was losing my mind. Like it was already lost, like I wasn't even a person anymore but a collection of needs focused entirely on the man who was teasing me into a state of complete distraction. I shifted my hips down a little, desperate for him inside me, but he just moved away.

"Tell me, Eva. Tell me what you want and I'll give it to you, baby." I turned my face to the side, trying to bury it in a pillow, but Killian put his finger under my chin and made me look at him. "Eva...tell me."

"You!" I pleaded. "You, Killian. Please. That's – that's all I want. I want you to come inside me."

Whatever inner resources he was using to hold himself back, me begging him to come inside me was more than he could take. He pushed himself right up against my opening and looked down at me. "Look at me. I want to see your face."

So I looked at him, forcing my eyes to stay open when all they wanted to do was close in pleasure as I finally got what I wanted when he thrust himself into me. He went slowly, too, pausing when he was about halfway in to make sure I didn't look away. "Eva," he groaned. "Oh, Eva, oh Jesus you're so sexy."

And the whole time, as he eased himself into my pussy inch by sweet inch, we stared into each other's eyes. I watched his brows knit and the corner of his mouth twitch just a little as he filled me the rest of the way up. I didn't know that I could take that kind of sensory overload until that moment – until Killian made me take it. He propped himself up on his forearms and fucked me slowly, smiling every time I whimpered. With every thrust, I wanted more. And when I got it, it somehow wasn't ever enough, it just caused a deeper need to blossom where the old one had been.

"I can feel you," he said, his voice thick and deep. "I can feel your little pussy grabbing me, Eva. You're going to come aren't you? Are you going to come for me, baby?"

I was. I didn't hurry it, though. I forced myself to hold back the rush for as long as I could, because I wanted it to last forever. It felt different, too. Different than it had before. We were both enjoying it, resisting the frenzy so we could bask in being so close to each other, in the addictive pull of being needed so absolutely by the one person on earth we wanted to need us in that way.

"Killian –" I moaned, when the inevitable started to bear down on me. "Killian..."

He went faster, just a little, and I felt that sensation, the one that feels like your whole body is inhaling, not just your lungs. "Eva," he crooned into my ear before slipping his tongue into my mouth. "Eva, you feel so good. You're making me feel so good."

My breath caught in my throat, then, and the wave broke over me. Killian spoke to me the whole time, leading me, taking me, not willing to let go. "There, baby. Eva. Oh, Eva. Good girl. Come on, baby. Eva. Eva, Eva..."

I buried my face in his neck and clung to him as I came, moaning and crying out as my sex tightened around him over and over and over, sending pulses of bliss blazing out through the rest of my body.

When I came back to myself Killian was breathing very deeply, his forehead creased with concentration. He'd been waiting for me to finish, and I was glad because now I got to see him – to really experience it when he followed me down the same blissful path.

"Killian," I whispered, taking his face in my hands and arching my body up off the bed, trying to touch as much of him as I could. He was so close, so perfect. There was nothing else except him, nothing else I could see or hear or feel except him.

"Eva," he groaned, his voice ragged. "Fuck, you're gonna make me come. Oh, Eva. Baby. Ohhh..."

I rocked my hips up, meeting him, spreading my legs even wider than they were and held him tightly against me as his body went rigid. I watched his face as he came, saw the way his eyes suddenly glazed over when he locked his hips down, when he was as deep inside me as he could possibly get. I kissed his face, suddenly filled with an overwhelming tenderness as he finished himself off, snarling my name into my neck and pinning me down against the bed so I couldn't have moved even if I wanted to – which I did not.

Neither of us could do anything, not for five minutes, maybe ten. We lay there in bed, panting and overwhelmed. I don't know what Killian was thinking, but I'm not sure I was thinking anything. All I was doing was feeling. It was like the world had suddenly become very small – about the size of a bedroom at a country estate in Woaden, Rhenland. And the population of the world wasn't billions but just two. I think both of us felt it, whatever 'it' was. A change, something atmospheric, something that didn't need to be spoken out loud to be true. But there it was, hanging in the air between us as we caught our breath and tried to figure out what the hell had just happened.

"Jesus," Killian said, a couple of minutes later, rolling onto his side to look me in the eye. "Jesus, Eva."

"I know," I replied, taking the hand he stretched out to me. "What – what was that? I can't even think, Killian. I hope it's not permanent."

He smiled fleetingly, but then his expression went right back to serious. "I think I might be in trouble, Eva James. I think I might be in more trouble than I've ever been in."

"I bet you say that to all the girls." Yep, I did it again. I failed to hold back a snarky comment at a moment when almost anything else would have been more appropriate. But he wasn't fazed. He reached out and pulled me in close to him.

"You know what, Eva?"

"What?" I asked, as a little tickle of dread from who-knows-where suddenly ran up my spine. If I'd been able to form thoughts at the time, I would have recognized it for what it was – the fear of realizing how much you care about what a specific person thinks of you. Was he about to launch into a speech about how hot the sex had been but how I shouldn't develop feelings for him because it could never happen? Was he about to tell me how much he liked me as a friend and that he hoped we could keep sleeping together for as long as I was in Rhenland? If I'd been a little more experienced, a little less insecure, I probably would have known he wasn't going to say any of those things.

Killian broke into a little half-smile. "You look worried."

"Well, I guess I am a little worried," I replied. "You suddenly look so serious. It's – yeah, it's stressing me a little."

"What are you worried about?"

I groaned and covered my face with my hands. "Don't ask me that, Killian. It's too embarrassing. Please, just tell me what you were going to say."

"No," he said, pulling my hands away from my face. "Eva, I hope you don't think I'm about to say something unkind. That I'm about to blow you off somehow. I'm sorry, but if you are, that's nuts."

"Is it, though?" I shot back, feeling myself slip firmly into a familiar hard-ass, defensive stance even as the warmth of the orgasm he'd just given me hadn't yet fully left my body. "Killian, come on. How many girls have you blown off?"

"Quite a few," he conceded. "I'm not denying that. I don't even know why we're talking about that. Because that isn't what I wanted to say."

"Well what did you want to say?"

He put a finger under my chin so I couldn't look away. "What I wanted to say, Eva, is that there's no one else I want to be with right now, and nowhere else I want to be – except here. If a wizard showed up right this minute and said I could go anywhere in history, with anyone I wanted, I'd turn him down. And do you know how many times I've been able to say this – what I'm saying to you right now – in my life? And truly mean it? Never."

I didn't know what to say. I almost didn't trust myself not to have imagined it. Surely it couldn't be true? Killian stroked his thumb over my cheek. And then I did something extremely embarrassing. I tried to stop. Even as it was happening, I tried. But I couldn't. I welled up. It just happened. One minute Killian Chatham-Hayes is telling me he doesn't want to be with anyone else in the whole world except me, and the next I'm blinking madly, trying to conceal the tears that have sprung up out of nowhere.

"Oh my God," I exclaimed, wiping my fingers under my eyes. "Oh my God, Killian. I don't even – I don't even know why I'm doing this. I don't –"

"It's OK."

His voice was firm. Firm enough that I immediately snapped out of my useless attempts to conceal my own emotions and just looked up at him.

"It's OK, Eva," he repeated himself. "Why are you doing that, trying to hide from me? You don't need to hide. Now, tell me where all this is coming from. Are you upset because of what I just said? I agree, that was a little much wasn't it? But – it's true. Goddamnit, I know I probably shouldn't say something like that out loud but it's true. And you just made me come so hard I think the defenses are down, you know?"

"I'm not upset, idiot!" I half-cried, half-laughed, wiping my eyes again and giving Killian a light smack on the arm. "Who would be upset? Is there a woman on earth who would be upset to hear the Prince of Rhenland say something like that to them?!"

"I don't know," he mused. "Maybe there is. But it doesn't matter anyway, because you're the only woman on earth whose opinion I care about."

I rolled over onto my back and stared at the ceiling, shaking my head disbelievingly. "I'm not upset. I'm worried because it feels like I like you too much. It feels like I'm fooling myself. I'm almost afraid to hear you say something like that because – what if you don't mean it? What am I supposed to do if you just –"

"I do mean it."

"Well, OK. I mean what I'm saying, too. But, Killian, how can we even tell right now? Like, are we both going crazy right now or what? I feel like I am, but in a good way."

He leaned in close and kissed my neck. "Me too. This weekend almost doesn't feel real, does it? I keep trying not to think about the fact that we both have to go back to the real world on Monday – it all seems so far away right now, you know? And I don't just mean distance."

"So maybe we should just enjoy it?" I suggested. "Maybe we should stop over-analyzing it and let it be whatever it is?"

Killian looked at me quizzically. He was right to, because I didn't mean what I'd just said – I was only saying it because I knew damn well that weekend was more than a brief fling or a meaningless affair. I just didn't want it to be true, I didn't want to be that vulnerable. I wasn't that girl, the one who pined away in her bedroom over a boy who didn't call back. I was the strong one, the one who moved across an ocean by herself, the self-reliant one. Wasn't I? It's certainly who I wanted to be. But lying there next to the Prince as he kissed me and smiled at me and made me feel like the only girl in the world – part of me knew that was going to be very, very hard to live without.

"Uh, yeah," Killian replied. "OK. Sure. Let it be whatever it is. Are you hungry?"

Whatever moment we'd been sharing, it was gone. And it was because of my dismissive comment. He was sitting on the side of the bed, getting dressed, and I longed to reach out to him, pull him back to me, tell him I didn't mean it, that the weekend meant so much to me – so much that I doubted my own ability to handle it. But I didn't. Something held me back. I sat up and rested my cheek against his bare, muscled back. "Yes, I'm starving. Do you grow pancakes in the garden of yours?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," he replied. "It's very rare, the pancake plant. I had imported from America. The pancakes bloom in the autumn so they're in season right now."

I giggled and kissed his back. Sexy, rich, smart – and funny, too. I almost wanted the universe to reveal a bad side to Killian Chatham-Hayes. It didn't seem fair to just put the perfect man in front of me and expect me to be able to handle it.

Killian didn't let me help with the pancakes so I put my shoes on and wandered around the back garden, along the cliffs. At one point I nearly jumped out of my skin when a man suddenly appeared in front of me, looking like James Bond in dark sunglasses, jeans and a suit jacket. Then I remembered it was one of the security team. It was a strange feeling, being alone with Killian but knowing we weren't really 'alone.' I guess he'd just gotten used to it, but I wondered if he'd ever truly been on his own, ever been camping or hiking or just shopping without knowing there were dozens of highly trained, armed men just out of sight, ready to spring into action should anything happen.

"Eva!"

I heard Killian calling me and hurried back to the house. His pancakes were excellent. He even made two kinds – traditional American ones, the type I'm used to and a Rhennish type I'd never seen before. They were very thin, and browned on both sides.

"Here," he said when we were seated at the table. "Watch me. First, you sprinkle sugar on top." I followed his directions. "And then lemon juice, just a bit. Now, roll it up."

I hesitated before taking a bite. "Really? Just sugar and lemon juice?"

"Yes. It's delicious. Much more civilized than drowning everything in butter and syrup."

I laughed sarcastically. "Yeah, I suppose pouring straight sugar all over your food is much more sophisticated."

But he was right, it was delicious. Sweet and soft like the American version but spiked with the tartness of the lemon juice. "Damnit," I told him. "You're right."

He raised a single eyebrow and looked at me. "Don't look so surprised, Eva. I'm always right."

"Yeah. I bet you are."

That feeling I had with Killian, the one of being at ease with him, didn't go away. After eating our pancakes we were both sleepy, so we napped for an hour and then went for a walk in the woods on the Annesly estate. He told me the history of the property, that it had been built as a hunting lodge for one of his ancestors, a king who had lived centuries ago, before America had even existed. It had fallen into disrepair by the early nineteenth century before being restored by his great-great-great-grandfather. Killian surprised me by telling me he mostly used it for hunting and shooting, too.

"You hunt?" I asked, associating the activity more with rural America than with Rhennish royalty.

"Yes, of course," he replied. "I learned how to shoot before I was seven – it's just family tradition I guess. It's mostly pheasant here, sometimes wood pigeon and the odd buck, if it's in season. I'll have to make you my venison wellington sometime. Have you tried venison?"

"Yeah, lots of times. My dad didn't hunt but a lot of people did in Oshwego. I used to eat venison sausages at my friend's house, and the neighbors would sometimes give us some frozen meat if it didn't fit in their freezers. Lots of families would take a deer and then live on it all winter."

"Really? Huh. Yeah, I guess that makes sense. Maybe I could teach you how to shoot?"

He kept talking like that. Casually bringing up things we could do in the future, and I didn't know quite what to make of it. Did he mean it or was he just making conversation? And why wasn't I taking my own damn advice and just enjoying the weekend? So I slipped my fingers through Killian's and tried to do just that, as the day turned into evening and time seemed to move at an accelerated pace, the way it always does when you're happy.