He stood behind her, his hands resting on her hips. "After dinner I wanted to check out some of the ointments in those recipes, so I can see them too."

"Okay." She looked over her shoulder at him.

He dropped a quick kiss on her cheek. It was sweet, tender.

His next remark, however, was anything but sweet. "You need to move out of the way."

"What?"

He nudged her to the side. "No wonder you eat all that yogurt. Your cooking skills" — he sighed—"pitiful."

She laughed for real then, grateful that he was teasing, grateful that he wasn't letting her admission spoil what was left of their evening. She smacked his arm lightly. "I can stir pasta. It's not a special skill."

"Half of it will be stuck to the pan if you keep trying to do it. Come on. Out of the way."

Still smiling, she moved to the side and opened the minifridge. A six-pack of some microbrew sat there—no cheap drinks for him. Only Seth. He didn't share his beer, though. Any drinking done at his place was strictly BYOB. Doesn't hurt to ask. She pulled one out. "Can I?"

"You don't drink well, Ash." He frowned. "Thought you'd want a clear head."

She stopped herself before she told him how afraid she was. Instead she closed the fridge, still holding the bottle. "Split it with me?"

With another disapproving look, he handed her a plate of already sliced bread. "So where is this carnival?"

"Down at the river." She set the plate on the table and held out the bottle to him.

"You could cancel—postpone even, at least until we know more." He twisted the cap off, took a drink, and handed it back. "Do you know how many stories there are of them stealing people? Hundreds of years, Ash, people being gone hundreds of years."

"I know." She took a drink, looked at him, and took another.

Seth took the bottle out of her hand and pointed at the bread. "Eat something, then we'll try some of those recipes."

He glanced at the clock as he started rinsing the pasta. "I need to be able to see them so I can find you if something does go wrong."

After dinner Aislinn called to check in with Grams. She assured Grams she was in a safe place. "I'm with Seth. I'll be here for a while…"

She didn't tell Grams that she wasn't staying at Seth's. She felt guilty for it, but Grams already worried too much. After murmuring a few more assurances—and feeling guiltier—she hung up.

I wish I could just stay here. Careful not to bump Boomer, she stretched out on the sofa and closed her eyes for a minute.

Seth leaned down and kissed her forehead. He did that a lot lately, little touches, careful signs of affection— reminding her that he cared. Of course, he still flirted until the tension was exhilarating.

And real, not some faery trick. Seth is real. She hadn't asked what he wanted, didn't know how, but she was almost positive he wasn't looking for a fling.

She opened her eyes. For a moment it almost looked like her skin was glowing.

I'm just tired. She blinked.

He sat on the other end of the sofa, putting her feet on his lap. Then he held out a stack of recipes. "I've got three teas, a couple salves, a few tinctures, and one poultice. What do you think?"

She sat up and scooted closer. "A poultice?"

His hand tangled in her hair, lifting a long strand out and twisting it around his fingers. "Something you put on an injury, like putting steak on a black eye."

"Umm, yuck." She took the papers, scanned them.

Seth's playing with my hair. His fingertips brushed against her collarbone, and she realized she was holding her breath.

Breathe.

She let her breath out slowly and tried to focus on the words on the page. Everything felt somehow more important when she thought about where she was going that night and with whom.

She held out the paper she'd been trying to read. "This one has to sit for three days."

"A few are like that." He took that page with his free hand, the one that wasn't tracing circles on her skin. "The tinctures are to 'steep' for seven to ten days. I'll start a couple later tonight when you're out. I just wondered if any of them seemed, I don't know, familiar?"

She dropped the other pages on the stack in his lap. "I was born like this. Grams, my mom, that's just what happens in my family—something in the genes. Like being short or whatever."

"Right." He wasn't looking at the papers, but at her hand, which was still resting on his leg. Abruptly he stood up and walked away. "Let's try a salve. They seem quicker."

She followed him to the counter, where he had spread out the herbs, some bowls, a knife, and a piece of white pottery with a matching stick. She picked it up.

"Pestle."

She looked at him. "What?"

"It's a pestle. Here." He put some of the herbs into the white bowl and held out his hand.

She gave him the pestle, noticing how much distance he was suddenly giving her.

He used it to grind the herbs, crushing them into tiny pieces. "Like this."

Then he handed it back.

"Saint-John's-wort. Pulverize it and dump it here." He pointed at an empty cereal bowl.

"Right." She started crushing the strange-smelling plants.

Beside her, Seth filled a pan half full of water and set it on a burner. He got out two more pans and sat them on the counter.

"So about the other day, about us…" She glanced at him, more anxious than she expected. She needed to be sure what it really meant to him, but she was afraid he'd be hurt when she asked.

His tone wasn't insulted, though. Instead he sounded nervous too. "Yeah?"

"Are you, I don't know, going to ask me out or something? Or is it just casual, wanting to…"

"Just tell me what you want." He took the bowl out of her hand and pulled her up against him, hip to hip. "Dinner? Movie? A weekend at the beach?"

"A weekend? Aren't you moving a bit fast?" She put her hands on his chest, keeping a little distance between them.

"Not as fast as I want to." He bent down so his mouth was almost touching hers. "But I'm trying to wait."

She didn't even think about it; she nipped his bottom lip.

And they were kissing again, slow and soft and somehow more maddening than the first time. Somewhere between telling him she was meeting Keenan and asking him where they stood, the stakes had shifted.

Her hands found the bottom of his shirt, slid under it, over skin and the rings that decorated his chest. Any objections she used to remember had melted.

I found the uncrossable line. She almost giggled at the thought.

"Seth? You in there?" The doorknob jiggled.

"Seth, we know you're in there," Mitchell, one of Leslies exes, yelled. He knocked again, loudly. "Come on, open up."

"Ignore him," Seth whispered, his lips against her ear. "Maybe he'll go away."

The doorknob jiggled again,

"It's probably a good thing." Aislinn pulled back further, feeling almost lightheaded. "We're not thinking very clearly."

"I've done nothing but think about this for months, Ash" — Seth put a hand on either side of her face—"but just say the word and we stop. You set the pace. I won't push you. Ever."

"I know that." She blushed. It was a lot easier to give in to the temptation than it was to talk about it—surprisingly easy. "I'm not sure how far that is, though."

He hugged her closer and stroked his hand down her hair. "So we take it slow. Right?"

"Right." She nodded, feeling both relieved and disappointed. There were too many diseases out there to be casual, but just letting go of control, of logic, of what she should and shouldn't do…Tempting was an understatement.

His voice was low and steady as he said, "And yes, dating. There's nothing casual about what I want."

She didn't say anything, couldn't.