Chapter 23: Cliff House

"Ask," I said.

The hand on the sill turned over.

"I'd like to give you something," Darian said. "It isn't a ring. It doesn't ask for anything. May I?"

"Yes."

He opened the little white box.

Inside lay a plain brass key on a cord.

"The front door of the cliff house," he said. "It has no pledge on it, and no price."

"If you walk out with it, I won't come after you. If you throw it in the harbor, I'll buy another and leave it on the step."

"That's a strange present."

"I have been told I don't know how to give one."

I took the key.

It was warm from his hand, and heavier than it looked.

"Get in," I said. "It's cold out here."

I climbed in beside him and pulled the door shut, and the cabin went dark.

He didn't touch me.

He waited.

"Ask," I said again.

"I want to hold your hand."

I gave it to him, and the blades began to turn.

We flew low over the water in the blind gold morning, with the shutters down and his thumb moving over my knuckles.

It took ten minutes.

It took exactly as long as it had on my birthday, and I knew every one of those minutes had been different.

The cliff house was cool and quiet when we came in.

Darian shut every blind in the long front room, and lit the fire for the first time since I had known him.

I sat on the rug in front of it with my shoes off.

"You've never lit this," I said.

"I have never had anyone to sit by it."

"It's a very good fire."

"It's an awful fire. I don't know how to build one."

He looked at it ruefully.

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