Something in the old woman's tone made Marigold's stomach tighten.
"A co-chair?"
"Mm-hmm. He's around here somewhere—ah!" Ellie's face brightened as she looked past Marigold's shoulder. "There he is. Thallos! Over here!"
She turned.
The satyr crossing the room toward them moved like music made flesh. Broad shoulders beneath a white linen shirt tuckedinto a wide belt, sleeves rolled to reveal powerful forearms that spoke of physical labor. Light brown hair, slightly wavy, fell just past his ears, small curling horns rising from his temples. Below the waist, powerful digitigrade legs covered in coarse fur the same warm brown as his hair, ended in cloven hooves.
But it was his face that made her breath catch.
Angular and striking, with a strong jaw and a mouth that seemed permanently curved toward amusement. Golden-brown, warm as aged whiskey, found hers across the room, and something in them sparked with interest.
He smiled.
*Oh no.*
She knew that smile. She'd grown up watching her mother use that exact same smile. The confident charm, the easy magnetism, the unspoken promise that you were suddenly the most fascinating person in any room.
It was a con artist's smile. A heartbreaker's smile.
A smile that said I know exactly how attractive I am, and I know you've noticed.
"Ellie." He reached them, his voice a warm rumble that seemed to resonate somewhere in her chest despite her best defenses. "Perfect timing. I was about to escape before someone tried to rope me into another pothole discussion."
"Thallos, this is Marigold Bloom. Your co-chair for the Summer Dance Festival."
Those golden eyes turned fully toward her, and she forced herself to meet them. She would not be flustered. She would notbe charmed. She had spent her entire adult life cleaning up the messes left behind when charm stopped being charming.
"Marigold." He said her name like he was tasting it, rolling the syllables across his tongue. "The florist. I've seen your shop."
"Have you."
The flatness of her tone seemed to amuse rather than deter him. His smile widened, revealing a hint of slightly pointed canines.
"Hard to miss. You've got quite an eye for color. That display you did last month—the one with the blue delphiniums and the copper watering cans? I walked past it three times just to look at it."
*Don't let him flatter you. That's how it starts.*
"Thank you," she said, keeping her voice carefully neutral. "It was a collaboration with the antique shop next door."
"Modest too." He glanced at Ellie with an exaggerated look of approval. "Where did you find her?"
"She found us," Ellie said. "She's really turned the florist shop around since she took over. Quite the entrepreneurial spirit."
She suppressed a wince. The "entrepreneurial spirit" had been more like desperate necessity after her mother had abandoned both the shop and the lease payments. She'd scraped together every cent she had to keep the business from collapsing—and then discovered, to her own surprise, that she actually loved it.
But that wasn't the story she told people.
"Well." She straightened her spine, clutching her notebook a little tighter. "I should probably get back to the shop. I have arrangements to finish for the Hendricks wedding."
"Already?" Thallos raised an eyebrow. "But we haven't even discussed the festival yet."
"I'm sure we can arrange a meeting at some point?—"
"We should exchange information at least." He reached into the pouch on the belt and produced a business card with the fluid grace of someone who made even mundane gestures look deliberate. "My number's on there. The shop's address too, if you'd rather stop by in person."
She took the card automatically. Heavy cream stock, embossed lettering.*Thallos Fine Wines & Vineyard.*An address on the outskirts of town, where the farmland started rolling toward the hills.
