Except then he began to speak and, against all odds, the storm began to quell.
She rested her forehead against the door and closed her eyes, letting his words carry her with him to Lowtown and the inn and the smuggler’s home. As he spoke, she was reminded how the cloak had gone from hiding him to revealing him – turning him from someone completely indecipherable to a man she trusted with her life.
And then, once more, he brought her back to the boat and anger flashed across her face like lightning.
Still, she forced herself to listen.
When he spoke of his promise, she dropped her hand from the doorknob. And when he spoke of their bond, she turned back to face him. Without her anger to hide behind, it was impossible to ignore the earnestness, the sincerity, that poured out of every cell on his body. Her shoulders softened and she felt what was left of the storm recede.
Sabine stayed quiet as Vincent picked up the cloak, searching for the right words that would make him understand exactly how much she didn’t want to be angry, how tired she was of being mad, how grateful she was that he had, yet again, somehow managed to fix it.
The kitten mewed.
She released a breath and stepped forward, slowly making her way back to his side.
Sabine glared up at him accusingly. “You couldn’t have explained all that before I opened the gift?” She frowned, and then stood on her toes to give him a soft peck on his cheek.
Her face reddened.
“Just give me the damn cloak.”