“You are a kind soul, Christopher Deville.”
Wonder and sadness mingle together as we watch Evie walk towards a drop of sunshine. Shoulders hunched, hands tucked deep in his pockets, the White prodigy stops just beyond the field of wildflowers and looks at his brighter half.
“Just returning a favour.”
“No.” A wistful smile touches her lips, “You’re making a wish come true.”
The fuzzy tuffs of dandelions collapse and get swept away in a breeze, swirling around the lost boy who found himself in someone else.
“Evie?”
Pure, unfiltered joy breaks clear across Dorian’s face.
“Evie!”
Vibrant petals and wayward stems get flattened and crushed as the youngest Hoffmann brother goes running towards him. Crashes into the dark silhouette and nearly sends them both toppling into the ground.
“Evie, where have you been? I’ve missed you.”
Big, brown eyes blink up at him, the wide stretch of his smile faltering as hurt shuffles through his expression.
“I thought you forgot about me.”
Instead of responding, the Witch of Wolf Hollow leans forward and kisses him. Winds trembling fingers beneath the base of Dorian’s beanie, clutching the boy tightly to his chest as Evie sews their lips together.
Molding, reshaping their future into something beautiful.
Something hopeful.
“That’s four.” Spluttering and gasping, Dorian looks at his partner with stars in his eyes, “Four kisses, Evie.”
“Do you want another one?”
There’s a pause as Dorian tilts his head, lips pursed together as he thinks it over.
“I think I want more than one.”
Laughter breaks free from a tortured soul, a struggling boy who may have found a reason to live after all.
“I missed you too.”
Foreheads pressed together, we leave Everett White and Dorian Hoffmann in a field of wildflowers. Lost in the weeds of an old love, tangled up in the roots of a rekindled one.
Dorian takes Evie’s hand and leads him to a batch of bluebells. Points out his favourite flora and chatters until his voice blends with the birds singing overhead. Beams with the rays of the sun as he basks in the presence of someone he loves.
Evie limps along, each step impaired by the tragedy of their love story. An injury that matches the bullet rattling around my cup holder, the tale of a boy who fell down a wishing well.
And the drop of sunshine that savedhim.
Chapter 57
CALISTA
The white picket fence is the cherry on top.
“It looks... nice.”
I don’t comment on the hesitation in Christopher’s voice. The slight shift of discomfort in his posture, an uneasy clench of his hands.
