CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
The cobblestones of Golden Paw's town square barely contain the swell of celebration as night falls, wrapping us in a velvety sky speckled with stars. The air vibrates with music—a fiddler drawing out lively tunes that make my heart race in tandem with the bow's swift dance across strings. Lanterns strung between ancient stone buildings cast a warm glow on faces flushed with joy.
"Mrs. Ford," he whispers, his breath fanning my ear, sending shivers down my spine even amid the laughter and chatter around us.
"Mr. Skye," I tease back, my voice barely audible over the crescendo of the fiddle. We twirl, our steps in sync, as if we're one person instead of two. His hand is steady at my waist, grounding me when the spinning threatens to send me into a dizzy spell.
"Look at
