"Lila."
"I'm helping."
"You're taking over."
"Same thing."
In the end, she left the store with a basket full of carefully curated picnic supplies: strawberries and grapes, a selection of cured meats, crackers that Lila had deemed "acceptable," and two bottles of sparkling water because wine at a picnic with Thallos seemed like a recipe for a repeat of that first wine tasting. She added a small jar of local honey—having fought her way past the pixies to claim it—and a bar of dark chocolate from the specialty display near the registers.
The walk back to her apartment took twice as long as usual because she kept getting stopped.
First by Mrs. Weatherspoon himself, who emerged from her store to offer her congratulations "on finding yourself a good one" and to hint heavily that if she was interested in any home improvements, she could recommend some excellent contractors for when she was "ready to expand."
Then by the Sanderson sisters, who were making their morning rounds through town and paused to inform her that the festival preparations were "coming along beautifully, dear" and that they were "so pleased" she and Thallos had "worked things out." The way they said it—knowing and warm and just slightly mischievous—made Marigold wonder exactly how much thetown's oldest residents knew about the sacred grove and its effects on inhibitions.
Even Dorvak, the orc who ran the bakery, handed her a rosemary sourdough round with a grunted "on the house" and what passed for a smile on his stern face.
By the time she finally turned down the narrow lane that led to Bloom & Vine, her cheeks hurt from smiling and her heart felt impossibly full.
*This is what belonging feels like,* she thought.
Not just Thallos. All of it. The town that had welcomed her, the friends she'd made, the life she was building piece by piece. For years she'd been afraid to want things—afraid that wanting led to having, and having led to losing. But maybe she'd been wrong.
Maybe some things were worth the risk.
She was still riding that wave of contentment when she rounded the final corner and saw the familiar facade of her flower shop. And the woman standing in front of it.
Her heart dropped straight through the cobblestones.
No.
Daisy Bloom was a vision of fragile loveliness, as always. Her blonde hair was artfully tousled, her makeup flawless, her dress a swirl of pale blue that would have looked ridiculous on anyone else but somehow worked on her. She was surrounded by an explosion of designer luggage—four bags, no, five, piled on the sidewalk like the aftermath of a very glamorous shipwreck—and she was waving her phone in the air with the universal gesture of someone trying to find cell service.
"There you are!"
Daisy spotted her and beamed, abandoning her phone search to rush forward with arms outstretched. A cloud of perfume enveloped them both as Daisy pulled her into a crushing hug.
"Baby! Oh my God, look at you! You're practically glowing. What have you been doing? New moisturizer? A facial? No, wait, don't tell me—" Daisy pulled back, hands on Marigold's shoulders, eyes widening with delighted recognition. "Oh. Oh, it's a man."
"Mom."
"It is! I know that glow. That's the glow of a woman who's been thoroughly?—"
"Mom!"
"What? I'm just saying." Daisy linked her arm through Marigold's and began steering them both towards the shop door, somehow managing to gesture at her luggage pile with her free hand. "We need to get those inside before someone steals them. Not that anyone in this adorable little town would steal them, but you never know. I once had a bag stolen by a very determined seagull in Barcelona, and I've never quite recovered from the?—"
"What are you doing here?"
The question came out sharper than she intended, and Daisy's smile flickered, just for a moment, before resettling into place.
"Can't a mother visit her daughter?"
"Considering I've barely heard from you since you dumped the shop in my lap and took off, I'm a little surprised."
"Well, I'm visiting now." Daisy's voice carried that particular brightness that meant she was pushing through an uncomfortable moment by sheer force of personality. "Besides, I heard about this festival you're planning. Chair of the Summer Dance Festival! My baby, running the whole show! I had to come see it for myself."
"How did you?—"
