After leaving the shop, Eli dragged Ambrose into the inn down the street for a celebratory dinner. But Ambrose found himself far too talkative to properly eat—the words simply poured out of him, both nervous and excited.

“So I know you said that the Claw will be docked for several weeks,” he said, pushing his food around as he babbled, “and that you’d like to be here for the official opening of the shop. But if you need to leave within the month—“

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Eli said quickly. He had already scarfed down his food, and was looking at him with an expression Ambrose couldn’t quite analyze.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “The crew is usually eager to set sail.”

“Oh, they are.”

“So…” Ambrose set down his fork. “They won’t be delaying?”

Eli shrugged. “Probably not, once they’ve sorted out their treasure.”

Ambrose frowned. “So that means…you’ll be leaving within the month, yes?”

“Not at all.”

As Eli smiled, Ambrose rubbed his forehead. “I apologize, I don’t think I follow.”

Eli leaned forward and reached for his hand. “You recall that tavern down the street, yes?”

Ambrose did recall—lovely stone facade, excellent location on the terrace, warm light flickering in the windows. “Yes, I recall.” Then he blinked as the realization dawned on him. “You didn’t.”

Now Eli’s words were the ones coming in fast. “While your proprietor was going over the paperwork, I spoke with the owner of the tavern,” he said. “The man was a former sailor, and seemed rather eager to get back out to sea again after years away. I told him there was a ship in the dock he could board, if he was willing to sell the place.”

A weight Ambrose didn’t realize he had been holding in his chest dropped away, the empty space flooding with relief. “So you’re—so you’re staying? Here?” Tears sprang to his eyes. “With me?”

“I said I was yours as long as you’ll have me.” Eli squeezed his hand. “And Rosemond Street has an excellent view.”

Ambrose smiled so hard he thought his face might crack. “But—but what of the ship?”

“Grim, Sherry, and Banneker will take it and form a fleet under Dawn,” Eli said. “If I ever choose to sail with them again, they’ll take over the tavern until I’m back.” His smile tilted. “Dawn was generous and said she’d tolerate my presence every now and then.”

“But…” Ambrose looked out towards the direction of the port. “But we’ve only just arrived into Scarsport. When did you talk with the crew?”

Eli hesitated. “The day after the kraken.”

“After the—?” Ambrose couldn’t breathe. “So all this time, you…you knew you wanted to…”

“To stay with you?” Eli smiled. “I knew it from the day I met you.”

Ambrose looked at his food—he couldn’t possibly eat, not now. He stood instead. “We should head back to the ship,” he said. “The crew will want to know—“

“The ship?” Eli stood with him. “What, and trap you on that floating tinderbox of pirates right after the biggest purchase of your life? No.” He lifted Ambrose’s hand and kissed it. “You have a room upstairs waiting for you.”

#

As Eli handed him the key and followed him upstairs, Ambrose silently cursed the man. He had said he had gotten Ambrose a room, not them a room.

Which meant that it was entirely up to him to invite Eli in for the night.

As he opened the door, he briefly forgot about that little problem. The room Eli had secured for him was as lovely as everything else on Rosemond Street. It was warm and dry, for one. Distinctly non-teetering, with not even a trace of seawater or tar. And to top it off, a fire was already going in the hearth, with an armchair and a cozy blanket carefully placed near it.

“Well,” Eli said brightly as Ambrose stared around the room, “you’ve had a very busy day, Mr. Beake, so I’ll let you rest and see you tomorrow, hm?”

He clasped his hands behind his back and began to saunter off, failing to hide a smile. Ambrose shook his head. Cheeky bastard, absolute rascal of a former pirate captain—

“Rest?” he repeated, poking his head out of the door. “You have me all wrong, sir. I was going to catch up with one of my new neighbors.”

“Oh?” Eli spun on his heel, feigning a look of curiosity. “And who would that be?”

“Well, you see,” Ambrose tried to act casual as Eli wandered back into the room, “I’m new on this street, and I hear there will be a new tavern owner across the way. I thought…” Eli closed the door and slowly shrugged off his red coat. Ambrose’s concentration wavered, but he powered through. “I thought I might spend the evening getting to know him. If that’s agreeable to him, of course.”

Eli grinned and slid his hands around Ambrose’s waist. “I’d love nothing more.”

He reached up and kissed Ambrose, not with the hunger of a captain about to throw himself into the arms of the sea, but the softness of a man who was trying to convey, through every kiss and touch and sigh, that he wanted to be around for a very long time.