I nod, rubbing at my wrist. “Dorian’s back.”
Her hands still mid-motion, then she nods once, like that explains everything. “Ah. That would do it. Old bonds don’t fade just because you want them to. Your system remembers.”
I stare down into my lap. “It’s such a long time. It shouldn’t still affect me like this.”
“Shouldn’t,” she repeats gently, “but it does. Hearts and instincts aren’t ruled by calendars.”
She sprinkles a pinch of the crushed herbs into the steaming mug. The scent blooms sharp, something between lemongrass and mint.
“Drink this nightly for the next three days. It’ll stabilize your scent signature and calm your heat response. Combine it with your medical suppressant, but no more than that. Too much will send you the other way.”
I take the cup she offers, the rim warm against my fingers. “Will it stop the dreams?”
“It’ll help you sleep through them. The rest,” she says, resting her palm lightly on my wrist, “depends on how much of him you let linger in your thoughts.”
I smile weakly. “So I’m doomed.”
Her laugh is soft and knowing. “Only if you stop fighting it. Now go, before I keep you here for tea and gossip.”
I stand, pulling on my gloves. The shop hums faintly behind me, the shelves whispering as if the herbs themselves approve of her advice.
Snow drifts through the air, soft and steady. The street glitters under the late afternoon light, the town already halfway dressed for the Halloween festival. Orange lanterns hang from the lampposts. The scent of cinnamon and pine syrup rides the wind.
The next few days blur into motion. Between flower orders, bouquet arrangements, and running inventory, I barely have time to breathe.
The town council loved my idea for the community hall Autumn Revival Halloween.
They clapped when I presented it, and now I’m paying for that success with sleepless nights and ink-stained fingers.
Luckily, Wren saved my ass.
By the time I haul my fourth crate of roses into the cold room behind Fox & Fern Café, she’s already there, leaning against thestainless-steel counter with a mug of cocoa and a mischievous grin.
“You’re lucky I love you,” she says. “You’ve completely hijacked my storage.”
“I’m bribing you with free floral centerpieces,” I say, setting the crate down. “That’s love language enough.”
She laughs, rubbing her belly. “Beau and Levi should be back any minute. They’re getting the last of the eucalyptus from the truck.”
“Bless them both.” I push a stray curl behind my ear and glance around the cold room. Buckets line every inch of space, filled with water and stems—roses, lilies, chrysanthemums, all tagged with handwritten notes. My handwriting’s a mess, but at least it’s legible.
Wren watches me for a beat. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Define okay.”
She gives me that knowing look that makes lying impossible.
I sigh. “Thea gave me more herbs. I’ve been… off. My suppressants aren’t keeping up.”
“Is it because of?—”
“Yes.”
Her brows knit. “You haven’t seen him again, have you?”
“No.” I grab a bunch of ranunculus and start trimming stems. “But I keep hearing his name everywhere. Jude mentioned him in a meeting. Everyone’s talking about the architecture firm coming to town. I’m trying not to spiral.”
Wren exhales, setting her cup down. “Then focus on the work. You’ve got your hands full with the hall project.”
