"What?"
"Not today." He kissed her forehead, her nose, the corner of her mouth. "Not because I don't want to—believe me, I want to—but because when we take that step, I want it to be perfect. Not rushed. Not in a field full of pollen that's going to make you sneeze."
As if on cue, she felt her nose tickle. She sneezed.
He laughed, the sound bright and warm and completely infectious. She found herself laughing too, the tension breaking like a soap bubble.
"Fine," she said. "But soon."
"Soon." He helped her to her feet, brushing grass off her skirt with hands that lingered just a moment too long. "In the meantime, I believe we have dance lessons to continue."
"I thought you said I should take a break."
"Dancing isn't work. Dancing is…" He pulled her close, settling into the now-familiar hold. "Dancing is this."
And then he was humming something low and sweet, and they were moving together through the meadow, the butterflies scattering around them like living confetti. No music but his voice. No audience but the wildflowers.
She rested her head against his chest and let herself be led.
CHAPTER 16
The next day brought rain. Marigold spent the morning in the flower shop, arranging bouquets for three different customers while the sky outside turned gray and weeping. The work was meditative—choosing stems, trimming leaves, balancing colors and textures until each arrangement felt alive.
She was just finishing a piece for Mrs. Patterson's anniversary—roses and baby's breath, classic and romantic—when the bell above the door chimed.
"We're almost—" She looked up. "Oh."
Thallos stood in the doorway, soaking wet and grinning like he'd won the lottery.
"Tell me you didn't walk here," she said.
"I didn't walk here."
"Liar."
"I jogged part of the way." He shook himself, water droplets flying. "Also, you have no idea how hard it is to run with hooves on wet cobblestones."
"Why didn't you just—I don't know—wait for it to stop?"
He crossed to the counter, leaving a trail of wet hoofprints on her freshly mopped floor. She should have been annoyed. She wasn't.
"Because I wanted to see you," he said simply.
"We have plans tonight."
"I know. But tonight is hours away, and I didn't want to wait hours."
He said it like it was obvious. Like wanting to see her was reason enough to risk pneumonia.
*This is what I want,* she thought. *Just this.*
"You're dripping on my counter."
"Is that a complaint?"
"It's an observation."
He leaned across the counter, close enough that she could see the water beaded on his eyelashes, could smell rain and wine and that indefinable Thallos scent that had become synonymous with comfort.
