Prologue
Shiv woke to the scent of salt and lavender.
The sea breeze had slipped through the cracked window during the night, curling through linen curtains, brushing over her skin. Ronan’s arm was wrapped around her waist, heavy with sleep, his breath warm against the nape of her neck.
She smiled into the pillow.
He always held her like this—tightly, protectively—even now, years into marriage, as though the sea might still try to steal her in the night.
His fingers traced lazy, unconscious patterns against her hip. Familiar. Tender. Possessive in the way only love is allowed to be.
“Are you watching me sleep again?” he mumbled.
“You were dreaming,” she whispered back.
“Was I smiling?”
“No. Growling. Like a bear.”
Ronan’s laugh rumbled low in his chest. He shifted, pulling her back against him more fully, nuzzling her shoulder. “Maybe I was dreaming of you trying to sneak away again.”
“You say that like I haven’t come back every time.”
He kissed her neck, slow and lingering. “And I’ll never stop being grateful.”
Later, they moved through the house in quiet choreography—Ronan making coffee, Shiv braiding her hair by the window, sunlight catching the silver thread in her pendant. Their home was full of curves and natural wood, open beams and soft stone, every window looking out toward the water.
Just beyond the dunes stood the old cottage, now Bríd’s empty shell. Shiv kept it tidy. Lit candles on the hearth. She still couldn’t bring herself to pack away the sealskin bundle Bríd had left behind.
But life moved forward.
And Fionn—Fionn charged through it like a gale.
A crash sounded from outside.
“Uh oh,” Ronan said, setting down his mug.
Shiv opened the back door just in time to see their five-year-old son sprinting across the garden path, face streaked with berry juice, shirt covered in what appeared to be goose feathers.
Behind him, the neighbor’s goose flapped indignantly.
“Fionn Liam O’Sullivan!” Shiv called. “What did you do now?”
“I was helping, mummy!” he shouted without slowing down. “It needed a haircut!”
Ronan choked on his coffee. “Oi!”
They finally cornered the boy on the porch steps, his dark curly hair windblown, his blue eyes bright with mischief.
“You’re supposed to be getting ready for school,” Shiv scolded, trying not to laugh.
“I am! I’m researching birds!”
“By attacking them with scissors?” Ronan asked, raising a brow.
Fionn grinned. “Scientific inquiry, da.”
Ronan rubbed his face. “He’s too clever.”
“He’s your son,” Shiv said, kissing both of their foreheads. “That was always going to be a problem.”
The morning passed like many others: school bags packed, toast burnt, Ronan stealing kisses between cups of tea. The sea beyond their window stretched wide and shining. Nothing had stirred yet. No shadows in the waves. No strange songs in the wind. But it would come.
And when it did—this love, this boy, this life—they’d fight to protect it. Every tide, every time.
