“It’s finished,” Rosemary said as she stepped through the portal into the farmhouse. “I’ve given leadership of Inboco to Rufus. The witches are officially neutral in our political standing.”

“Are you sure you’re comfortable with that? When Nadine and I thought of it, we didn’t expect you to give up Inboco.” Rory put her hands in her pockets and pressed her lips together.

“Well, it’s too late now. But it was an excellent decision and a wise idea. The unnamed servants will aid us with our living situation. We’re short on rooms already, and if another Starfall arrives, they’ll require somewhere to sleep.”

“We don’t need their help to build a house.”

“My dear Rory, if that’s what I had in mind, you would be correct. However, it’s not. We’re going to enchant it to make it bigger on the inside.”

It was true. The home had become crowded.

Rosemary took up permanent residence in Nadine’s room. Doc offered to give her his, and he’d take the couch, but she refused his offer. He’d spent his days transforming the old barn into a clinic. After he’d eat and take a hot bath to relax his muscles, he’d fall fast asleep, dead to the world.

When the clinic was ready, Rory would return to her position at a phone-less reception desk in the clinic. Until then, she enjoyed having the time to spread her wings and fly. She’d check in on Alma and its progress. Or over to Paradise and say hi to Gus. If she felt like a long flight, she’d go to Inboco and chirp at Rufus. A few occasions the Black Heron would join in her dashes through clouds.

She’d just returned from one such chase and adjusted her clothing before there was a knock at the door. “Come in,” she said as she tucked the dog tags under her shirt. The cool metal warmed against her skin.

Doc stood with his hands in his pockets, a wide grin set over his face. “It’s done. Asher and I just put in the last few nails. You’re the first person I wanted to see it.”

“That’s great!” She took his hand, and he dragged her behind him. “You had Asher helping you?” I should have told Doc about our thing.

“Well, he was up and needed something to do. It was better than risking him prowling around you all day to keep himself busy.” He held the front door open and winked.

Shit, does he know already? She glanced sideways at him, but his face was unreadable.

“Asher might have gotten his way once, but you told him it was a mistake.”

He knows. “Doc, I…” She couldn’t think of the appropriate words to reply and left the partial sentence hanging in the air.

“I won’t lie and say it didn’t bother me. There was a full week where just being near you pissed me off so bad I couldn’t stand it. Forgive my language, Rory. But it wasn’t right for me to hold it against you. Especially since you’d made it clear, you weren’t ready for what I wanted.”

“Still, I should have told you myself.”

“Maybe it’s better it came from Asher. The first words that fell out of my mouth were things I’d have regretted saying to you. Besides, he helped put the situation into perspective. Said you’ve avoided him after it happened and, as much as I hate to admit it, he was right about another thing. I should have given you more time before opening up. Might have gotten a little greedy. I’m sorry about that.” He stopped in front of the barn’s side door, now painted a fresh white.

“I’m sorry, too. You’re the last person I would ever want to hurt.” She wrapped her arms around him and buried her head in his chest. His pulse quickened under her ear and she smiled.

“All right, well,” he said and cleared his throat. “Here we are. Ready?”

“I can’t wait.”

He held her hand and rubbed a thumb against her palm. With a grand display, he swung the door wide and flipped on the lights. “Mara’s servants gave us more batteries for the place. Bigger ones this time, so if we find more equipment in Starfalls we can put them to use.”

The white walls still smelled of fresh paint and sawdust. It was sparse, but considering what he’d had to work with, impressive. The waiting room had chairs commandeered from Inboco with their branch and fur construction. Hung paintings livened up the atmosphere. Some in the style from before the fall and some creations from artists in various camps. The technique and subject a clear indication of where the creator had been born.

She found her area and breathed a sigh of relief at a chair set behind the desk instead of an old log as her other had been. He’d even made a set of new and improved numbered tiles for her. Flat this time for easier stacking.

Oops, he must have noticed how I spent my time some days.

She glanced apologetically at him, and he laughed.

“You might have been someone else’s, but that doesn’t mean I could keep my eyes off you. I watched your little game from time to time.” He pulled her towards the back. “Come on, let me show you the rest.”

As he led her around, she felt like she ooh’d and ah’d at the appropriate times. He’d earned the appreciation for his hard work.

Finally, they’d gone in a wide circle that ended at a door behind her station and waiting area. “I made myself an office.” He opened it to reveal a room with a couch set against the wall. A few medical journals lined a bookcase. And the centerpiece, an old mahogany desk and chair with a hand-drawn sketch of herself in a simple frame as the only adornment on top.

Holga must have given it to him at some point, she realized after remembering some of the witch’s other sketches.

“I figure if you get sent somewhere, you’ll always be right here. You don’t mind, do you? We’re not really a thing. At least, not that I know of. I wouldn’t object if we were, but I’d want to take it slow. Show you I’m here for the long haul.”

She pulled him to the couch and stood on it to make her a little taller than him. And hesitated before pushing her lips against his.

He wrapped her in a giant bear hug.

The heat surrounding them built, and she broke the kiss. “I’m glad you showed me. It’s perfect.”

“You think it’ll do?” he asked and picked her up to set her back on the ground.

“I think it will.”

“Good.” He patted his stomach. “Now, what’s for dinner? I’m starved.”

Sven passed around bottles of his latest stout as they sat at the dinner table.

“Do you have any cold?” Billie asked.

The Brit narrowed his eyes and turned in disgust. “You’re lucky I don’t take it from you after askin’ such a thing.” Doc had saved Sven’s left eye, but it was cloudy and he had trouble seeing through it, sometimes wearing a black leather eye patch when it became too much. His face scarred in places from the burns, but he’d taken it mostly in stride.

Rory stopped asking him if he was all right after he volunteered information about Nadine liking a little pirate role play in the bedroom when he put on his eye patch.

Holga moved down the stairs in even steps. Everyone drew silent, waiting for the big reveal. When she noticed them staring and expecting a speech, she sighed and plunked down a lit up satellite phone from the Starfall on the table. “My work is complete. It took me longer than I expected, but the books Mara provided me only offered half of the information that was needed.”

Billie’s eyes widened. “Where did you figure out the rest?”

She ignored him. “They no longer function using satellites for their signal, but they tap into…” Holga sighed at the group’s blank expressions. “They run on magic. I’ll give one to each leader of the other camps so we can stay in constant communication. And Rory will receie one too. For the clinic, of course.”

“Oh, yay, I get a phone,” Rory said, making a face. “Here I was afraid I’d never fulfill my dream of becoming a true receptionist.”

Doc’s shoulders moved in silent chortles as he took her hand under the table, giving it three light squeezes.

By the time they served the food, most of the witches were ready for their next round of drinks. They offered cheers to Holga, cheers to Alma and its rebuilding, cheers to the fallen St. Maggie of the Blue, and whatever else they could think of.

They ate, rejoiced, and drank far too much.

Early into the following morning, everyone turned in, giggling and clutching the railing on the stairs for dear life. Doc walked Rory to her door. “It’s the closest I can get to walking you home.”

Overcome with drunken emotion, they wrapped their arms around each other and swayed in place. The scents of pine, paint, and the musky odor of man filled her nose.

With his lips next to her ear, he spoke softly, “Would you be up for that picnic? Maybe make us official. I’m done pretending I don’t love you.”

“I’d like that, Doc,” she said and kissed his neck. “I’d like it a lot, actually.”

“Call me, James. My friends call me Doc and I want you to be so much more than that.”

Their lips met, soft at first but growing with hunger, stripped of their inhibitions from a night of celebrating. He lifted her and she wrapped around his torso. In a half stagger, half urgent stride, he opened her door and shut it behind them. He pinned her to his body, hands kneaded at the flesh of her bottom as he stumbled to the bed on unsteady feet.

He lay her down and removed her shoes. Kissing her arms, neck, any exposed flesh sought by his mouth.

A yearning for him crept through her. Clumsy fingers found the button on his jeans, but fumbled.

He kneeled, taking her hands in his, and kissed them. Starting with the palms, then the backs. Delicately, he ran his lips down each finger. “I want this to happen, but we both might have had a little too much to drink. You have no idea how disappointed I’d be if I couldn’t remember it in the morning.”

For a moment, she considered seducing him or stripping to let him see what he’s turning down. But common sense got the better of her. Sex seemed to be a big step for him, so why not wait? She’d asked him to stick around for her to be ready. Hadn’t he without a single moan of agitation?

Well, there had been one, but it was shortly after they nearly tumbled into bed together the first time. So that didn’t really count.

Still, she wanted him close. “Will you lie down with me at least? You can sleep on top of the covers if you’d like.”

There was the sound of his boots being removed and a brush of fabric as he took off his shirt to get comfortable. The springs on her old mattress shrieked at his weight and he pulled her to him.

She nestled beside him and kissed him before resting her spinning head on his chest.

He traced his fingertips along the bare flesh of her upper arm. “It wasn’t completely true when I said I’ve been pretending I don’t love you. I’ve been telling you for a while now, in my own way.” He held her hand and gave it three gentle squeezes. “One for each word.”

She gave him three squeezes in return.