And then I’m out of the car, leaving Bobby to hobble after me like a wounded raccoon in designer crutches. He’ll live. Probably long enough to exaggerate this car ride to our mother, who will undoubtedly guilt-trip me into holiday penance.
Whatever.
I toss my keys to the valet without breaking stride, blinking away the snowflakes that pelt my lashes. It’s just flurries, nothing serious. Not like earlier. Not like what I feel barreling through my chest right now.
Truth is?
I don’t care about the weather. I don’t care that I’m late. I don’t care that my tux is wrinkled, or that I left my brother in the driveway bitching about potholes and near-death experiences.
I only care about her.
My Badger is clawing at my insides, ears twitching beneath my skin, sniffing. Searching. Desperate to get closer to the one person he wants more than honey or a sun-warmed burrow.
Marigold.
The moment I step into the warmth of Uncle Uzzi’s grand ballroom, everything stills.
No, correction.
I still.
The world moves around me in a blur of glittering gowns and enchanted mistletoe, but I can’t process any of it.
Not the music.
Not the murmuring voices.
Not the clinking of champagne flutes and cocoa mugs or the sparklers whirling about dangerously close to the paper mache ornaments.
Because I catch it.
Her scent.
Cinnamon. Honey. Buttercream. Sugar. Her.
And all the air whooshes out of my lungs like I’ve been hit by a gingerbread-scented freight train.
Which, honestly, is the only way to describe falling for Marigold.
It was all things sweet and spicy.
Unexpected.
Beautiful.
And totally impossible to stop.
My Badger goes still and focused, ears up.
The ballroom is exactly what I’d expect from a matchmaking Witch with a flair for dramatics—floating enchanted candles, a ceiling charmed to look like a starry winter night, garland that twinkles back at you if you stare too long, and a suspicious number of strategically placed mistletoe clusters.
And there.
Under the largest one, sparkling like it personally pays rent to the North Pole, stands her.
Marigold.
My holiday Honey.
