There were several other boats still in sight. Marcus aimed away from the good fishing-it wasn’t sea creatures he was after. “You might as well bring that bucket out with you.” The decks could certainly use a good scrubbing, and Sean usually had energy to burn.

His stowaway grinned. “Can I sing pirate songs while I work?”

Marcus growled and stared out to sea, amused in spite of himself. Apparently he was doomed to child-sized company of some sort today, but at least this one wasn’t still in diapers. “Where’s Kevin?” Generally the twins traveled together.

“Babysitting for Elorie. Gran says he has the touch.”

Marcus grinned at the boy’s tone-apparently Sean shared his general distaste for wailing babies. Or maybe it was a little more complicated than that. A trickle of unhappiness swirled at the back of Sean’s mind even as he got out the mop and bucket.

Sigh. A whole village full of meddling amateur psychologists, and the boy had come to him. They all seemed to come to him-hardly a day passed that small footsteps of one sort or another didn’t invade his new cottage. Renting one on the outskirts of Fisher’s Cove hadn’t dissuaded them in the slightest.

If it wasn’t Lizzie, Sean, or Kevin, or someone looking to pawn off a fretful baby, it was Aervyn, porting in for a visit.

Almost as if there were a conspiracy afoot.

Marcus tucked that idea away for further contemplation. Sophie and Moira were more than capable of harnessing an army of pint-sized minions in their quest to upend his life.

And so far they’d been very successful at keeping him sucked into the village, far away from his remote and very child-free cliffside home.

“Can I steer?” Small hands reached for the wheel, and a still-wet boy threatened to crawl into his lap. Marcus vacated his stool and activated a small wind funnel. It wasn’t nearly as pleasant as a quick-dry spell, but neither of them were fire witches, and Sean could hardly hang around in wet pants all day.