"So," Barb said in the ensuing silence, "you are happy, Bren."
"Very," he said. "You?"
"Very," she said, and slid in the chair and stood up, walking over to the fire, which played nicely on her fair curls. She bent down and put a stick of wood in. "I love fires. Not something you do on board."
He sat where he was. "Not likely. You live aboard the boat, year round?"
She nodded, and looked back at him, and walked back toward her chair.
Or toward him. She rested a hip on the outsized arm of his chair. He didn't make his arm convenient to her. She laid a hand on his shoulder.
"She wouldn't object, would she?"
"She may, and I do. Move off, Barb."
"Bren, I'm your sister-in-law. Well, sort of."
"Marry him, then." He wished he hadn't said that. He couldn't get up without shoving Barb off the arm and he could all but feel Jago's eyes burning a hole in Barb. "It's not funny, Barb."