“I like this too.” I plant a kiss on his cheek. “Though, we could have probably done without you chasing me back to the human realm, huh?”
“Perhaps.” His forehead presses against mine. “But like a moth to a flame, I will come to you so long as embers in your heart burn for me.”
“I never stopped caring,” I say, stroking his cheek down to the tip of his jaw. “I just thought you did. I’m sorry.”
“You did say you wanted a dramatic proposal,” he teases. Though he’s not wrong, I didn’t think I’d be the reason forthe drama.
“Should I circle back to see if there’s aMothman is My FiancéT-shirt? Or maybeI’m married to Mothmanfor our honeymoon?”
He grimaces and shakes his head. Leave it to me to ruin a sentimental moment like this, but then he guides me by the chin to a kiss that’s deep and tender. Oh my god, I’m going to marry this man. A glow radiates deep inside me as the kiss builds and builds until we are gasping for breath. Wordlessly, we hold each other with only the sound of the woods between us.
“I suppose we cannot allow your uncle to think you’ve disappeared.” He sighs. “Together?”
“Always,” I say, tugging on his hand. This time I’m not going to let anyone—myself included—get in the way.
Our lips meet soft at first, the hardness of his mouth shifting as the monster dissolves into man. As we kiss, he scoops me up into his arms, launching the two of us into the air. We fly until we’re just on the outskirtsof town.
“Perhaps we should walk the rest of the way,” he says, a slight blush covering his pale cheeks. His chest is bare and glorious and, when we get closer, gives the festival-goers something else tostare at.
“Moth?”
“Yes, my flame?”
“We are so getting you one of those t-shirts.”
Moth and I left the festival by nightfall after grabbing dinner from a few food trucks with my uncle. He was all too happy to offer his congratulations and send us on our way, confirming my suspicion that his invitation was never actually about me being his assistant orwhatever.
Forever a fan of cheesy romance movies, my uncle is happy to wish us well on our next adventure. I hope one day he’ll find someone too.
After what feels like a million years, Moth and I are sitting in the living room of our cabin together. I can’t believe I let Holly and an out-of-context letter get into my head so badly. As much as I’d love to blame the gluten-brain fog, I should have known better than to question the admiration Moth has for his flame. But there is still one thing that’s been bothering me…
“So, all those hours in the library. You were working on my proposal?” It’s a question I’ve been holding onto since the first time I woke up alone. Looking back, I wish I hadn’t pushed down my feelings and confronted him as soon as the anxiety startedto build.
“Not exactly.” He sighs. “You are not the only one who has keep keeping secrets.” Hunching his shoulders as though he’s about to reveal a midnight candy stash, he moves across the house to pull a notebook from our bookshelf. He flips it open to reveal pages upon pages of familiar flowing cursive script.
“Whatis this?”
“A novel, “ he groans. “Or at least the start of one. I fear the other half is in the castle.”
“Wait, you’re writing a book?! Babe, that’samazing.”
“If you read it, you would notsay that.”
“Why didn’t youtell me?”
“Because it is horrendous.”
“Babe!”
And I…” He sighs, running a clawed hand through his perfectly messy curls. “I wanted to keep it to myself a little longer. Besides your presence, escaping into that story was my only way to … cope with the events of last week. It doesn’t all make sense. I put all the questions I had for what my life was like down on paper—the half-thoughts, the nightmares, and daydreams. I scribbled versions of Ruby, Oak, and Pepper on parchment. What is fiction and what is memory? I couldn’t tell you.”
“But ithelped?”
“It did.”
“That’s honestly amazing.” I squeeze his arm; if I hadn’t been so wrapped up in planning a ball and my own problems, maybe I would have noticed. “Thank you for telling me.”
He nods stiffly but says nothing. I know how it is to show your art to someone—his heart has bled onto those pages, and he can keep them a secret for as long as heneeds to.
