Mrs. Channing made a thoughtful noise, then continued toward Harrison’s.
By Friday evening, the S and A were complete. Urien stepped back, squinting against the sunset to check the spacing. His dragon purred approval. The letters read clearly to his eyes, even from ground level, but humans saw only attractive groupings.
Saturday morning, Urien planted the M through morning fog, using deep purple petunias for the letter’s outer edges and white begonias fordefinition. The final touch - a heart rendered in crimson dahlias - took until afternoon.
He knelt in the soil, his hands dirty from his labor of love, and placed the last dahlia. He was done.
Urien stood, every muscle aching pleasantly. The garden stretched before him, a riot of coordinated color. Red bled into gold, gold into purple, purple into white. The overall effect was cheerful chaos, exactly what a public park needed.
His dragon wanted altitude to properly appreciate the work, but Urien resisted the urge. Shifting in broad daylight would cause problems the local council wouldn’t forgive, permit or no permit, and the dragon council’s wrath would be worse. But he could imagine how it looked – Sam’s name spelled in living color, the heart obvious and unmistakable from any height.
“Sam,” he murmured to the flowers. “This is for you.”
/~/~/~/~/
Sunday morning arrived too bright, too early. Urien had barely slept, his dragon demanding he immediately show Sam the garden, claim him, and explain everything. Dragons were not patient creatures.
But humans needed time and space, along with clear invitations instead of assumptions. Urien drafted the note at the estate’s kitchen table, surrounded by Rux’s leftover pastry experiments and Mabon’s abandoned coffee cups. Five attempts ended crumpled in the bin before he settled on something simple.
Sam,
Would you meet me at the park at sunset? There’s something I’d like to show you.
Urien
No flourishes or cryptic hints. Just a straightforward request that Sam could accept or decline without pressure.
Urien folded the paper, slipped it into an envelope, and drove to Sam’scottage before he could second-guess the wording again.
The street was quiet at half-past eight. Sam’s curtains were drawn, no movement visible through the front windows, which was good because it meant there was less chance of another Basil incident.
Urien approached the door with the envelope, hyper-aware of every sound. Inside, something shifted, and then he heard claws clicking against hardwood. The cat was awake.
Urien moved faster, pulling tape from his pocket and securing the envelope to the door at eye level, where Sam couldn’t miss it. His hands trembled slightly – which was ridiculous for a creature who’d lived centuries, but he couldn’t deny he was anxious.
What if Sam didn’t come?
What if he came and still didn’t understand?
What if the garden wasn’t enough?
A low growl filtered through the door. Basil knew he was there.
Urien stepped back as a heavythumphit the door from the inside. Then another. The cat was throwing his full weight against the wood, defending his territory from the dragon-shaped threat.
“You’re protecting him,” Urien murmured. “I understand.”
He wanted to tell Basil they had the same goal - keeping Sam safe and happy. But cats didn’t negotiate, especially not with predators they instinctively recognized as dangerous.
Anotherthump. Basil wasn’t giving up.
Urien retreated to his vehicle, watching the cottage until a light flickered on upstairs. Sam was probably wondering what the noise was about.
The envelope stayed secured to the door, white against dark blue wood. It was clear, visible, and the invitation was unmistakable.
Now he just had to wait and see if Sam would come.
/~/~/~/~/
