“There you are,” Owen said, his voice a low murmur as he sat down, completing their trio. Before Rona could reply, he snatched her mug and drained the last of the hot chocolate. A smudge of spiced cream clung to his beard, and it took every ounce of Rona’s self-control not to lean in and kiss it from his stupidly handsome smile. "Get a grip, shrub", she chided herself, looking away to keep her composure. She watched as the rest of the ‘Rats’ retreated for the night, leaving the three of them in a serene, intimate bubble by the fire. But Rona saw in Owen’s eyes that even this wasn’t private enough. “Let’s go back,” he said, his voice a low, husky lure. The warm, open energy he radiated was a world away from his usual tense watchfulness, a deliberate, disarming invitation that sent an ache through Rona’s chest, reminding her of the night they had danced.