He opens his mouth, but I beat him to it.
“He is,” I say quickly, unable to stop the smile that pulls at my lips.
The smile is what gives me away. Everyone sees it. Everyone reacts to the way I practically glow, coming alive from within.
Mrs. Hanley beams. “Good. Because we’ll tear you limb from limb if you break her heart. Understand?”
Slade gives her a solemn nod. “Perfectly.”
I swear the bond purrs at his seriousness.
The next customer—a college girl who’s been buying anxiety charms for three years—gives Slade a long, appreciative once-over before turning to me. “Piper… is he your…?”
I feel my cheeks warm again. “Something like that.”
Her grin could power a small city. “He’sgorgeous. And he just scared off that creepy guy who always asks if you have sage ‘for personal use.’ You’re living my dream life.”
Slade overhears exactly none of this and exactly all of it, judging by the faint smirk tugging at hismouth as he organizes crystal grids like he was born doing it.
Through the afternoon, women come and go—mothers, grandmothers, teenagers, coven members, solitary witches—all giving Slade variations of the same warning:
“If you hurt her…”
“You better treat her right…”
“She deserves the moon, demon boy…”
Each time, he nods, replies politely, or simply stands a little closer behind me, presence protective but not oppressive.
He never once looks irritated. If anything, he looks… proud. My chest does strange, fizzy things about that.
Near closing time, the door jingles and Rhea sweeps in, smelling like peppermint lattes, snow, and trouble. Sweeping between customers with the confidence of someone who has hexed more than one person for standing in her way. “Okay,move,” she announces, waving her hand in a grand arc. “I have news.”
Slade stiffens beside me—just enough that I feel it in the bond—and I raise a brow.
Rhea wiggles her fingers at him. “Relax, Lord Broody. It’s good news. The world isn’t ending yet.”
“That’s debatable,” Slade mutters.
I cross my arms. “What kind of news?”
“Thebestkind.” Rhea plants her hands on her hips, grinning like the cat who stole Christmas. “The Bellamy Yule Ball is officially happening this year. On Christmas Eve because of course everyone had to be difficult, but it’s no matter. OH! And you’re both attending.”
My heart leaps. “Really? Elle will be there?”
Slade looks confused. “Elle?”
“Maristelle,” I explain. “Rhea’s older sister.”
“That’s not my sister’s name today,” Rhea snaps. “Her name is Elle. Nobody callsher—” She glances around the shop and lowers her voice to a whisper. “—thefullthing. It’s basically a slur.”
I laugh, and the sound bursts out of me too bright to stop. Slade turns sharply, eyes softening in that warm, hungry way that still makes me melt.
“Anyway,” Rhea continues, pretending she isn’t flustered, “Elle is flying in tomorrow, and she already asked if you’re alive or if you’ve been eaten by possessed garland.”
“Reasonable,” Slade murmurs.
Rhea ignores him with expert precision and hops onto the counter like she owns the place. “Formal attire. Gold and evergreen theme. Try not to embarrass us.”
