Lost Creek Hollow we'll be counting stars

If Silvertongue had been avoiding him, it hadn’t fully registered with the distracted Mayfair. The days ticked by—sleep was light and far in between and the pups, when not feeding and potentially terrorizing their hosts, were clingier to him than he was used to—likely, because Jakoul had been their everything prior.

So when she swept up to him—yet remained a distance from him—something he did notice as his gaze trailed over her—he could not quite stir a welcoming air or smile form his lips. “Mo ghaisgeach beag,” he murmured, eyes remaining rapt upon her. “Sadness does not suit you.”