He'd meant it as reassurance. But to someone who'd spent her life being left behind, it probably sounded like indifference. Like he could take her or leave her. Like she wasn't worth the effort of pursuit.
"What do I do?" he asked desperately. "She won't answer my calls. She won't see me. I can't exactly break down her door."
"No." Winnie's lips curved into something that might have been a smile. "But you can stop acting like a wounded pup and start acting like someone who actually wants to be chosen."
"That's not helpful."
"Then let me be more specific." She moved towards the stairs, then paused, looking back over her shoulder. "Tomorrow night. The concert in the town square. Everyone will be there—including Marigold. Her friend won't let her hide forever."
"And what am I supposed to do? Corner her in a crowd?"
"I think you'll figure something out." The almost-smile widened. "You're a satyr, aren't you? Music. Dancing. Grand romantic gestures. It's practically in your blood."
She started up the stairs.
"Winnie."
She paused but didn't turn.
"Why are you helping me?"
Now she did turn, and her expression was gentler than he'd ever seen it. "Because my sisters and I have watched this town for a very long time. We've seen people find each other and lose each other and everything in between. And every once in a while, we see something real." She held his gaze. "Don't let fear make you miss it."
Then she was gone, her footsteps fading up the stairs and out of the cellar.
He stood alone in the dim light, surrounded by broken glass and spilled wine and the wreckage of his self-pity. The herbal drink still burned in his stomach, sharp and clarifying.
*Stop acting like a wounded pup.*
He looked down at his hands—broad and capable and currently useless. Three days he'd wasted, nursing his wounds like they were all that mattered. Three days while Marigold sat alone with Rachel's poison, convinced that everything between them had been a lie.
Three days too long.
He moved to the wall and pulled down a mop and bucket from their hooks. If he was going to do something dramatic and foolish and absolutely necessary, he could at least clean up his mess first. The wine came up easily, the glass swept into careful piles. By the time he climbed back into the afternoon sunlight, his hands were steady and his mind was clear for the first time since that awful text arrived.
Tomorrow. The summer concert. Music and food and the whole town gathered in one place.
He'd spent his entire life using charm as a shield, a way to keep people at a comfortable distance while they thought they were getting close. But Marigold didn't need his charm. She needed his truth. And if he had to declare that truth in front of everyone in Harmony Glen, then so be it.
He had one day to remember how to be brave. For her, he'd find a way.
CHAPTER 14
Thallos stood at the edge of the Town Square, half-hidden behind the sprawling oak that had watched over Harmony Glen for three centuries. The summer evening concert was in full swing—strings of fairy lights crisscrossed overhead, casting everything in a warm golden glow that made the gathering feel like something out of a dream. Food carts lined the perimeter, the scents of grilled corn and kettle corn and something savory and rich from the troll-run barbecue stand mingling into something warm and appetizing. A five-piece band occupied the gazebo at the square's center, working through a lively folk tune that had couples spinning across the cobblestones.
It was everything a small-town summer evening should be. Charming. Warm. Full of laughter and connection.
He felt like he was about to walk into a firing squad.
*This is stupid,* the coward in him whispered. *She'll say no. She'll say no in front of everyone, and then you'll have to see these people every day for the rest of your life, and they'll allremember the night the satyr made a fool of himself over a florist who wanted nothing to do with him.*
He shifted his weight, hooves silent on the grass. When had he last been this nervous? Not since… not since the last time he'd played, really. Years ago, before Jen, before the vineyard, before he'd learned that some things were safer left untouched.
The band shifted into a slower number. Couples moved closer together, swaying in the gentle rhythm.
Now or never.
He scanned the crowd.
