"It was a mistake." The words hung between them. "Because what I should have made clear was that the grove doesn't create feelings. It only amplifies what's already there. And what I felt—what I feel—has nothing to do with magic."
The band started up again, something slow and sweet. Around them, couples began drifting back to the dance floor.
"I heard what Rachel said to you," he continued. "At the coffee shop."
Her face went pale. "How did you?—"
"Doesn't matter. What matters is that she was wrong. About all of it." He stepped closer, close enough to see the rapid flutter of her pulse at her throat. "Yes, I've been with other people. I won't pretend otherwise, although it hasn't been as many as she seems to have implied. But I have never—*never*—treated anyone like a conquest. And I have never felt about anyone the way I feel about you."
"You barely know me."
"I know that you talk to your plants when you think no one's listening. I know that you organize your thoughts in color-coded notebooks because chaos makes you nervous. I know that you've spent your whole life cleaning up other people's messes, and you're terrified of becoming one yourself." He reached out, slowly, giving her time to pull away. When she didn't, he tookher cup and set it aside on a nearby table. "I know that you're brave and stubborn and kind, and that you deserve someone who sees all of that. Not just the parts you show everyone else."
Her breath caught. "Thallos…"
"Dance with me."
"What?"
"Dance with me." He gestured at the couples swaying around them. "Here. Now. In front of everyone."
"I can't—I don't?—"
"I'll lead. All you have to do is hold on." He offered his hand, palm up. "Let me show you that I'm serious. That this isn't a game or a passing fancy or whatever Rachel convinced you it was. Let me prove it."
She stared at his hand like it might bite her.
The moment stretched. The music swelled. Somewhere behind him, he could hear whispers building. The whole town was watching, waiting to see what would happen, but all that mattered was what she thought.
*Say yes,* he thought. *Please. Just give me a chance.*
She looked up at him. Her eyes were bright, almost too bright, and her voice shook when she spoke.
"You're making a scene."
"I don't care."
"Everyone's watching."
"Let them watch." He kept his hand steady, even though his heart was trying to hammer its way out of his chest. "I've spent my whole life playing a part. Keeping up appearances. But I'm done hiding, Marigold. I'm done pretending that what I want doesn't matter. And what I want is you. Just you. If you'll have me."
A tear slipped down her cheek. She brushed it away with the back of her hand, looking annoyed with herself.
"This is ridiculous," she said.
"Completely."
"I'm terrible at dancing."
"I'll catch you if you stumble."
"And if I step on your hooves?"
"They've survived worse."
A laugh escaped her, watery and uncertain and the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. She looked at his hand again, then at the couples around them, then back at his face.
"One dance," she said.
