She climbed the rest of the stairs and let herself into her apartment without looking back. Only when the door was closed and locked did she let herself sink against it, pressing her palm to her still-racing heart.
The apartment was dark and quiet. Familiar. Safe. But for the first time in as long as she could remember, safety wasn't enough.
CHAPTER 12
The ceiling had a crack. Marigold had lived in this apartment for almost a year and never noticed it before—a thin, spidery line running from the light fixture toward the corner, barely visible in the pre-dawn gray. She'd been staring at it for the better part of an hour, her mind running in circles while her body refused to move.
*I let a man I barely know touch me in a magical grove.*
The thought should have horrified her. Should have sent her spiraling into shame and second-guessing and all the other familiar patterns her mother's choices had burned into her psyche.
Instead, she felt… warm.
Confused, certainly. Unsettled, definitely. But underneath all that turbulence, a persistent warmth that had nothing to do with her flannel sheets or the morning sun starting to creep through the curtains.
She'd wanted it. She'd wanted *him.* And for once in her carefully controlled life, she'd let herself have what she wanted.
*The magic,* whispered the practical part of her brain. *He said the grove amplifies things.*
But he'd also said it couldn't create something from nothing.
She rolled onto her side, bunching the pillow under her cheek. Her body still felt different—looser somehow, like she'd unclenched muscles she hadn't known were tight. The memory of his hands, his mouth, the way he'd murmured her name?—
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.
She grabbed it, heart lurching, but it was only Lila.
*Coffee? Cool Beans has those scones you like. I have gossip about Torin that I'm legally obligated to share.*
She smiled despite herself. Trust Lila to cut through the chaos with pastry-based bribery.
*Give me an hour,* she typed back.
*Make it 45 minutes. The scones go fast.*
She dragged herself out of bed and into the shower, letting the hot water pound sense into her sleep-deprived brain. The reflection that greeted her in the foggy mirror looked the same as always—same green eyes, same freckles, same slightly too-thin face from all the meals she'd skipped during the shop's rough early months.
But something had shifted behind those familiar features. Something new and uncertain and terrifyingly hopeful.
*You're being ridiculous,* she told her reflection. *It was one night. One moment. It doesn't have to mean anything.*
But she knew, with the bone-deep certainty that had kept her alive through her mother's chaos, that it already meant everything.
Cool Beans occupied a narrow storefront between a wellness store and a pub, but despite its cramped quarters, the café had become Harmony Glen's unofficial gathering spot—the kind of place where monsters and humans rubbed elbows over espresso and pretended they didn't notice each other's scales or horns or peculiar dietary requirements.
Lila had claimed their usual table by the window, two steaming mugs and a plate of scones already waiting. Her curly brown hair was pulled back with a paint-stained scarf, and there was a smear of something blue near her left temple.
"You look like you've been up all night," Lila said by way of greeting. "Either the flower arrangements for the Anderson's anniversary turned sentient and tried to murder you, or something interesting happened."
She slid into the chair across from her, trying her best to keep her face composed. "No sentient arrangements. Just… couldn't sleep."
"Uh-huh." Lila's brown eyes sharpened. "This wouldn't have anything to do with a certain satyr whose vineyard you were supposedly visiting for 'festival planning'?"
"How did you?—"
"Small town. Someone saw you walking toward the woods at sunset. Someone else saw you coming back after midnight." Lila pushed one of the mugs toward her. "Also, you have that look."
"What look?"
