The Sanderson sisters had claimed their usual bench near the fountain, a massive basket of knitting between them. Ellie caught his eye and raised one silver eyebrow in a look that clearly said get on with it. Harold Malcolm from the dime store was dancing with his wife, both of them moving with the comfortable ease of people who'd been partners for decades. A group of teenagers clustered near the kettle corn cart, pretending not to watch the adults with barely concealed judgment.
And there?—
His heart stuttered.
Marigold stood near the edge of the dance floor, a paper cup clutched in both hands like a shield. Her friend Lila was beside her, gesturing animatedly about something, but Marigold's attention kept drifting. She looked tired, he realized. Not the pleasant exhaustion of a long day's work, but something deeper. Shadows under her eyes. A tension in her shoulders that hadn't been there before.
*Because of me,* he thought. *Because she's been carrying Rachel's poison for days and I did nothing to counter it.*
Lila said something that made Marigold smile, but it was a pale thing, a ghost of the expression he remembered from the grove. From those moments before everything went wrong, when she'd looked at him like he was worth the risk.
The song ended. Applause rippled through the crowd.
He stepped out from behind the oak.
The walk across the square felt like it took hours. He was aware of eyes turning, of whispers starting—a satyr carrying an enormous bouquet wasn't exactly subtle, and half the town probably knew about his and Marigold's recent tension. Small towns ran on gossip like cars ran on gasoline.
He ignored all of it. He kept his gaze fixed on Marigold, on the way her shoulders tensed when she noticed him approaching, on the flicker of something in her eyes that might have been hope or fear or both.
Lila spotted him next.
"Oh, finally," she said, loud enough to carry. "I was starting to think I'd have to drag you both into a room and lock the door."
"Lila," Marigold snapped.
"What? Someone had to say it." But Lila was already stepping back, giving them space. "I'm going to get more cider. Take your time."
She melted into the crowd, leaving Marigold alone and cornered and looking at him like he was either a lifeline or an executioner.
"Hi," he said.
Brilliant opening. Really masterful.
"Hi." She clutched her cup tighter. "I didn't… I didn't know you'd be here."
"I wasn't sure I would be." He offered her the bouquet, but when she didn't take it, he set it down on the table next to her, needing his hands free. "Can we talk?"
"Thallos—"
"Please."
The word came out rough. Raw. He watched something shift in her expression—wariness giving way to uncertainty, then something softer.
"Okay," she said quietly. "Talk."
He'd rehearsed this. He'd spent the last twenty-four hours turning the words over in his mind, trying to find the right combination that would unlock whatever door she'd closed between them. But now, with her standing right there and the fairy lights catching the green of her eyes, all his careful speeches evaporated.
"I'm not very good at this," he started.
"At what?"
"Being honest. Being vulnerable." He forced himself not to look away. "I've spent most of my life treating charm like armor. If I kept people entertained, kept them smiling, they never looked too closely. Never saw the parts of me that weren't so… shiny."
Her fingers loosened slightly on her cup. "Thallos?—"
"Let me finish. Please." He took a breath. "When I stopped things in the grove, I told you the magic might have influenced your response. I thought I was being honorable. Giving you a way out if you needed one."
"It was?—"
