He leads the way into the kitchen, and then towards the stone staircase that leads down to the lower level, which holds a large cellar where he makes and stores wine. There are several vintages now that are several hundred years old, all of them scattered from various periods over his time in Abraxas. Sometimes crafted for special occasions, or at momentous times in memory.

He pauses at the bottom of the steps, however, waiting for her to join him there before he slides a finger under her chin and tips her head up so she’ll meet his gaze. He doesn’t miss how red her eyes are.

“You don’t ever have to apologize for that. You’re welcome here, Claire. Always.”

He holds her gaze a moment, wanting her to see he was serious.