"Good." Winnie folded her hands in her lap. "Three days ago, Marigold was at Cool Beans with her friend. Rachel walked in."
Everything in him went very still.
"Go on."
"Rachel made certain… comments. About your history. About the women you've been involved with. About satyrs in general and their inability to commit." Winnie's eyes were sharp, watching his reaction. "She mentioned a dryad who supposedly moved away after you 'got bored' with her."
"That's not—Sylvara and I ended things mutually. She moved because she got a position at a botanical conservatory in Portland, something she'd wanted for years." His hands clenched into fists. "And yes, there have been others—I've neverpretended to be something I'm not. I've never promised more than I could give."
"I know that. You know that. But Marigold doesn't." Winnie leaned forward slightly. "What she knows is that a beautiful, confident woman just confirmed every fear she already had. That you're charming and attentive until you're not. That you collect women like trophies. That she's nothing special—just the latest in a long line of conquests."
Her words rained down like blows of a hammer. He pressed a hand to his chest, half-surprised to find it still intact.
"That's not true," he said. "She's not—I'm not?—"
"I know."
"Then why?—"
"Because she's been cleaning up after her mother's romantic disasters her entire life." Winnie's voice softened. "Every time her mother fell for a charming man who promised the world, Marigold was the one left picking up the pieces. She learned very young that charm is often a mask for carelessness. That passion fades. That she would always be the one left behind."
He closed his eyes. *I don't do things like that,* she'd said in the grove. *I don't let myself get swept up.*
And he'd swept her up anyway. Taken her to a magical place and touched her until she forgot all the walls she'd built. Then acted surprised when those walls went back up twice as high.
"I thought I was being careful," he said. "I stopped. I told her the magic might have affected?—"
"And in doing so, you gave her an excuse to doubt everything she felt."
His eyes snapped open. "What?"
"Think about it." Winnie rose, moving to examine the labels on the nearest wine rack with studied casualness. "You told her the grove amplifies emotions. That it might have influenced her response. What do you imagine she concluded from that?"
The realization crashed over him like ice water.
"She thinks it wasn't real," he said slowly. "That what she felt—what we both felt—was just the magic. That without it, she wouldn't have…"
"Given herself permission to want you. Yes."
"But that's not how it works. The grove doesn't create—it only amplifies what's already there." He stood abruptly, pacing the narrow aisle between wine racks. "I explained that. I told her?—"
"You told her while she was still in the grip of whatever the grove had stirred up. How much do you think she actually processed?" Winnie pulled a bottle from the rack, examining it. "And then you walked away. Gave her space. Let her sit with her fears without you there to counter them."
"I was trying to respect her boundaries."
"A noble impulse. But sometimes, respecting boundaries means letting someone convince themselves of lies." She replaced the bottle and turned to face him fully. "You've been down here for three days, drinking and brooding and feeling sorry for yourself. Meanwhile, Rachel's poison has had time to seep in. Every hour you don't show up, every call she doesn't answer, becomes proof that she was right to doubt you."
He stopped pacing. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that retreat, while comfortable, is not always wisdom." Winnie's eyes held his, ancient and knowing. "If you truly care for this girl—and my sisters and I believe you do—then hiding in your cellar is the worst possible response. You're proving Rachel right. You're showing Marigold that at the first sign of difficulty, you'll disappear. Just like everyone else."
The words struck something deep inside, something he'd been trying not to look at.
Because wasn't that exactly what he'd been doing for the past few years? Charming and attentive until things got complicated, then stepping back with a gracious smile and moving on? It was easier that way. Safer. No one could betray you if you never gave them the chance.
But she wasn't a complication to be avoided. She was… she was everything he'd never known he wanted. The softness under her shyness. The steel in her spine. The way she'd looked at him in the grove, like he was something precious and terrifying all at once.
*When you're ready, I'll be here.*
