Thallos watched her weave through the remaining crowd with the practiced efficiency of someone who had spent her whole life avoiding attention. Head down, shoulders slightly hunched, notebook clutched to her chest like a talisman. She moved like water finding the path of least resistance—around clusters of chatting business owners, past the refreshment table, through the double doors and out into the fading afternoon light.
*Interesting.*
He'd noticed her the moment he walked into the Chamber of Commerce meeting. Hard not to, really. She'd tucked herself into a corner seat behind that half-dead fern, clearly hoping to blend into the background, and instead had managed to draw his attention like a single wildflower in a field of grass.
It wasn't that she was beautiful, though she was—in that soft, understated way that crept up on you. Dark brown hair pulled back in a practical braid, a few loose strands framing a face thatwas all gentle curves and wary green eyes. She had the kind of gentle features that probably made people underestimate her and assume she was younger and more naive than she appeared.
But her eyes told a different story.
Those green eyes had taken his measure in approximately three seconds flat and found him wanting. He'd seen the exact moment her guard went up—watched her expression shutter like a window closing against a storm.
Most people warmed to his charm. That was the thing about being a satyr; they came with certain expectations baked in. The easy flirtation, the sensual energy, the reputation for revelry and pleasure. Thallos had spent his entire adult life either leaning into those expectations or fighting against them, depending on the situation.
Marigold Bloom had looked at him like she could see straight through every smile he'd ever deployed as a weapon.
*Very interesting.*
"She's lovely, isn't she?" Ellie appeared at his elbow, coffee cup in hand, wearing a smug smile that immediately put him on guard.
"Subtle as always, Ellie."
"I don't know what you mean."
"You nominated her." He turned to face the older woman, one eyebrow raised. "Out of nowhere. A business owner who's been here less than two years, and who clearly wanted nothing to do with the festival committee."
Ellie sipped her coffee innocently. "She has excellent taste. The town needs fresh perspectives."
"Mm-hmm. And the fact that you've been trying to play matchmaker for me since my mother's funeral has nothing to do with it."
The soft shadow of remembered grief flickered across Ellie's face. She'd been one of his mother's closest friends.
"Your mother wanted grandchildren," she said finally. "She told me so. Often."
"My mother wanted a lot of things," he said roughly, then softened the words with a half-smile. "And while I appreciate the thought, Ellie, I don't need help finding company."
"I know that." Ellie rolled her eyes. "That's exactly the problem. Company isn't what you need, Thallos, and that girl isn't company."
"Oh? What is she, then?"
"Someone who might actually stick around." She patted his arm, her rings clinking softly. "But what do I know? I'm just a meddling old woman who cares about you."
She wandered off before he could respond, leaving him standing by the nearly empty refreshment table with the taste of her words lingering in his mouth.
*Someone who might actually stick around.*
As if it were that simple. As if the women who had drifted in and out of his life had left because of anything as simple as not sticking around. As if the one who had actually mattered hadn't taught him exactly what it felt like to be seen as nothing morethan a good time, a pleasant diversion, an exotic experience to brag about to friends.
He shook the thought away and reached for his phone.
The florist's business card had been visible in her notebook—cream-colored stock with a delicate green vine motif, her name and number printed in clean serif font. He'd memorized it without thinking, the way he memorized most things worth remembering.
*Looking forward to working with you, Marigold. — T*
The response came faster than he expected:
*Same. Let's keep it professional.*
He grinned. Actually, genuinely grinned, the kind of smile that came from somewhere real instead of somewhere practiced.
