Aries lay dozing on the rug, his black hair spilling over Hadria’s lap. She yawned theatrically and nudged his temple with her knee. “Aries,” she murmured, “take me home.”
He grunted something unintelligible, eyes still closed.
She gave his cheek a light pat. “Come on. It’s getting late.”
Aries finally stirred, blinking blearily as he sat up. He scrubbed at his face with both hands, then turned his drowsy gaze toward Dragonfly. “Do you want me to walk you home too? It’s not far.”
Before she could answer, Hadria cut in, her tone airy. “Collin can walk her, right?” Her eyes sparkled—unmistakably calculating—as they flicked from Aries to Dragonfly.
Dragonfly opened her mouth to protest, but Hadria had already grabbed Aries’s arm and was hauling him upright.
“Come on, darling! Grab my lamp and let’s—”
“Why are you in such a hurry?” Aries grumbled, stretching as he yawned. “It’s notthatlate. Just stay a little longer.”
“I’m tired,” Hadria hissed in a voice barely above a whisper, but the edge in it sliced through the room.
Dragonfly bit the inside of her cheek. God, it wasso obviouswhat Hadria was doing. Every dramatic glance, every forced smile—she could practically feel her being maneuvered like a piece on a board.
She shot Hadria a glare, hoping it might burn a hole through her elaborate exit strategy.
But Hadria didn’t pause. “Dragonfly,” she chirped sweetly, already halfway to the door, “could you help Collin clean up? He’s hopeless when it comes to dishes.”
And with one final dazzling smile—and a completely oblivious Aries in tow—she was gone.
The door clicked shut.
Dragonfly exhaled and slumped back into her chair, her gaze drifting to the table. Plates were stacked like little mountains, silverware strewn like fallen weapons. Her stomach gave a tired twist. Would Hadria ever stop meddling?
But then Collin shifted beside her, his body stretched comfortably in his seat, a lazy smile lingering on his lips. He looked deeply pleased—content in a way that made him seem far away, like a beautiful dream playing out behind his eyes.
He glanced at her, and the warmth of his eyes caught her off guard.
“You don’t have to do the dishes,” he said with a light chuckle. “Hadria’s just being her usual officious self.”
Officious is right,she thought, but didn’t say it aloud. His voice softened the moment, and something in his expression—so open, so easy—unwound the knot in her chest.
Maybe... maybe Hadria’s meddling wasn’t entirely unwelcome.
“I don’t mind helping,” she said quietly. “I’m not expected home anytime soon.”
The air had cooled to a breath, soft and sweet. A breeze stirred the sweat from her skin, gentle as moth wings. Fireflies drifted through the night like scattered stars, and the moon hung high and full above the trees. Lamps still glowed from the porch, casting warm rings of light in the grass.
After packing away the leftovers, they carried the dishes out in buckets, the metal handles clinking softly with each step. Collin fetched water from the well, then joined her beneath the tree, settling beside her on the bench. Their hips brushed. Neither moved away.
He dipped a plate into the soapy pail and scrubbed, slow and focused, bubbles gathering around his fingers. When he passed it to her, she dried it carefully, running the towel in tight, clean circles until the surface gleamed. She stacked it beside her, neat and ordered—plates with plates, bowls together, silverware lined in rows like tiny soldiers.
They didn’t speak much. Every so often, their eyes met—just a glance, a shared smile—and then they went back to their work. The clink of dishes, the swish of water, the soft rasp of cloth on ceramic filled the silence. It didn’t feel like work. It felt like something else entirely—music.
Each time his fingers brushed hers, a small jolt lit in her chest. Not jarring—more like a spark catching the edge of courage long waiting to burn.
Maybe being close to him like this wasn’t so frightening after all. Maybe she didn’t mind it. Maybe, one day, she’d want more.
When the last fork was dried, when every cup and bowl was tucked into its proper place, Dragonfly stood by the door. Collinlit the lantern with an energetic strike of flint, and golden light spilled between them.
She stood still, heart thudding, her hands clasped behind her back. She was waiting—though she wasn’t sure what for. The question. The one he might ask.
Without Hadria watching, she could breathe. Could think. The idea of Collin—them—wasn’t so terrifying here in the hush of night. It didn’t feel fragile in the way it had before. Still delicate, yes. But like a bud just beginning to open. Not ready for storms. But she had time to let it grow.
