Spring in Fisher’s Cove wasn’t that warm.

“Don’t hit a rock.” There weren’t a lot of things to crash into in open waters, but Sean had a knack for finding trouble.

The boy sprang up onto the stool, at home anywhere on a boat. “You’re going the wrong way for herring. Uncle Jonathan said they’re running better over by-”

“I’m not fishing today.” Or most any other day, but Marcus wasn’t about to try to explain why he owned a fishing boat that rarely on-boarded an actual fish.

“Okay.” Sean leaned over the wheel, eyes sparkling. “Can we race, then?”

The air caught in Marcus’s throat. There had been another, much smaller boy who had loved racing the wind.

He and Evan had been the mighty storm-witch duo, pushing their father’s fishing boat over the waters and scattering fish every which way. No one had ever minded-Evan’s sunny laughter had been impossible to resist.

Even then, Marcus had been the dark, quiet one.

And Evan had raced into astral danger with the same glee in his eyes. Marcus had watched, screaming, as his twin danced his way into the lethal magic mists of astral travel alone and unafraid. And never come back.

“We’re not racing today.” Marcus heard the harshness in his voice and watched Sean’s face crumple. Damn. He just wasn’t good with kids-of any size.

He patted the boy’s knee in mute, awkward apology. It was a sunny day-no mists to be seen. “You dry enough yet?”

“Yeah.” Sean hopped off the stool, subdued. “I’ll go finish mopping the decks now.”

Marcus waited until he was out of sight, and then slammed his hands down on the wheel. He’d just needed an afternoon alone-a few short hours away from cute babies and bright eyes and happy laughter and feeling like the killjoy of Fisher’s Cove.

A few hours to sit alone with the hole in his heart that never seemed to heal.