Page 5 of Cherry Moon

G sometimes popped into Cardiff to get stock for his online rare book business if he needed to. But not that regularly.

Butterflies fluttered past the open doors as a robin landed on the patio slabs for a quick hop about.

Cute.

I was so proud of G for growing his business like he did. The man knew his books, as well as their value. In fact, he’d become so popular, he had to get himself an office in the closest village where he also kept overspill of his stock.

I’d killed the dream of running a café in that same village. For ages, I wanted to give it a go, expand my business, get myself some regulars. But I preferred being an online bakery. I wasn’t a full recluse, but halfway there. Home was my safe space, anywhere else drained my social battery quickly.

This wedding would be my first time around lots of people in a good while, which was the source of lots of stomach flips in anticipation.

Ugh.

I think the traumatic events of my life might have cut something out of me. Before the Christmas Wanyūdō bullshit, I’d been making the effort to be tight with my family. But here I was, letting my duty slide. Losing myself a little.

It was safer that way.

Right?

You need to sort your shit out.

What I needed was more sweetness. I rolled off the sofa, returned to the kitchen, and grabbed the pot of glacé cherries, the damn things having me in a chokehold.

“You have no power here,” I told the sticky fruit. “But yes, you do.” In my gob it went.

Yum.

With G at his office until two, stage one of my baking plan had been completed with the cupcakes. Next, the oatmeal, peanut, and chocolate raisin cookies. They were an unrelenting itch I’d been ignoring for too long.

“Today is the day.”

I popped another cherry. You know, for morale.

And…one more.

The best part of the Cherry Moon, healing aside, was the cherries. That magical energy brought ripened fruits to every single cherry tree in the world for the whole week, and they never ran out until the end of night seven.

Sometimes, they even helped with physical healing if you were lucky.

Tonight, I’d be milking the shit out of the situation, plucking the glossy orbs from our cherry tree and putting them to good use. Their flavor was dialed up to a bazillion on the yum scale, making them beyond awesome. You didn’t get that level of delicious sweetness outside of the Holy Week.

Cherry shortbread and cherry pie were on the horizon.

Aw, man. Freshly baked and warm cherry pie with ice cream? Get in me quicker than Gabriel’s boner, please.

As I drummed my fingers on the counter, I noticed the sunlight glinting off my white-gold engagement ring.

I really was gonna marry G.

“You lucky fucker,” I told myself.

The King of my Heart.

He’d claimed it, made it his, and orchestrated a life of unadulterated joy for us I never could’ve imagined. I counted my blessings every day, thanked our creators for him, but also feared losing him—the seeds of that fear sown after that damn Wanyūdō attack.

Bloody hell, the dread of loss had grown exponentially recently.

Pure happiness like this must be fleeting, right? Nothing lasts forever. I’d learned that lesson time and time again in my thirty years of life. Seen people come and go, seen my life unravel and come back together again.