Her breath caught.
It was a charcoal sketch—his signature style—of a stilted cabin nestled amongst the towering trees of North Town. Every stroke breathed life: the slope of the roof, the shimmer of bark, the way the light filtered through the leaves. She could practically hear the whisper of wind in the branches. She stared at the tiny window he’d drawn on the cabin and swore she saw her own silhouette behind the glass.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered. Her chest ached with affection.
“Do you forgive me then?” he asked, his eyes gleaming with playful hope.
She rolled her eyes, but her lips curled against her will. He always knew how to win her over. And how could she stay mad at someone who could take a scrap of paper and conjure a world from it?
“I guess,” she said, “just this once.”
She slipped the sketch into her skirt pocket as if it were made of glass, then threw her arms around his shoulders. “Are youabsolutelysure you can’t make it?”
He hugged her back, arms wrapped tight around her waist until she squeaked. “You know I’d rather be at a party than out counting supply crates. I swear it.”
The sky had turned a soft mauve by the time Dragonfly stepped into Collin’s meadow. The trees towered at the edges, casting long, heavy shadows across the grass. Stars blinked faintly overhead, barely visible against the fading light. Though the sun hadn’t yet reached the horizon, the clearing already felt like twilight—quiet, veiled, expectant.
Collin stood alone by the fire pit, coaxing the flames with a metal poker. Without any wind, the smoke curled upward in a straight column, white against the deepening blue. He wore his shirtsleeves rolled, his movements quick and focused. In the low light, his figure stood out—steady, sure, and entirely absorbed in his task.
It stopped her breath for a moment. The scene looked like a drawing from a story: the firelight catching in the folds of his shirt, the sky behind him streaked in lavender and gold, the smell of pine smoke rising into the cooling air. She almost didn’t call out.
But she did, softly.
He looked up. Stillness flickered through him before he smiled—broad, radiant, completely unguarded. The poker dropped to the ground as he crossed the yard and swung the gate wide.
“Good evening,” he said.
There was tension in the way he looked at her that made the space between them hum. When his hand settled gently on thesmall of her back, the contact surged through her like heat. Her breath hitched. The pressure was light, but it sent a ripple along her spine, through her chest, all the way down to her knees.
She tipped her face away before he could see the flush rising beneath her skin and gestured vaguely toward the fire. “What are you doing?”
He grinned. “Grilling. Aries and I went foraging this morning.”
“Oh,” she said, barely above a whisper. She couldn’t quite meet his eyes.
His voice wrapped around her like a warm breeze. It wasn’t just the way he spoke—though there was rhythm in it, a kind of quiet melody—it was what it stirred. Every word brushed against the hope inside her she hadn’t known was waiting.
When they reached the fire pit, Collin let go of her back and picked up the poker. His thumb brushed the worn handle, his knuckles pale from how tightly he gripped the iron.
The absence of his hand sent a chill through her—not from the breeze, but from something deeper, a hunger left wanting. She had to resist the urge to lean back, to find his warmth again. It was as if his touch had left a hollow she didn’t know was there until it was gone.
He knelt beside the pit, tossing in tinder and stirring the glowing coals. She hovered a step behind, watching him in silence. Every movement pulled at her: the quiet ripple of muscle beneath his shirt, the curve of his back, the soft brown hairs on his forearms catching the firelight. A strand of hair fell across his forehead, and she wanted to brush it away—wanted it so badly it made her fingers ache.
The awareness settled low in her belly. Not a thought, not even an emotion, but an older weight—something wordless. A pull. A want. Her pulse beat hard, as if it had been swept into a faster current.
She’d known Collin all her life. He was familiar, safe, hers in the way old friends could be. And yet, now, standing here, he felt like a stranger—new, radiant, impossible to look away from.
The realization scattered her thoughts. She blinked. He was speaking. His voice had woven through the air like smoke, and she hadn’t caught a single word.
He glanced up, smiling—blue eyes bright, waiting for her to answer.
But Hadria burst through the cabin door and rushed toward them, her hair wild from the heat. “Dragonfly! Come inside and let Collin finish up. He looks like he’s got everything under control.”
She hooked an arm through Dragonfly’s elbow and tugged her toward the house. “You look gorgeous, by the way. Iwouldhave worn a dress, but you somehow pull that off. Very... breezy.”
Dragonfly didn’t answer, just let herself be pulled. The cabin smelled of roasted spices and warm bread. The table was covered—platters, bowls, folded linens.
“Why is there so much food?” she asked. “How many people did you invite?”
