***
After Arla left, taking her boom of energy with her, the shop turned quiet again.
Sylvie stood still for a moment, her mind looping back to what the orc had said about dragons hoarding and bonding for life. Keeping things strictly professional between her and Rhavor was becoming increasingly theoretical.
She felt a low curl in her belly—warm, unresting, and dangerously liquid.
She knew, with unsettling clarity, that she would never want to hurt Rhavor. Which meant she needed to tread carefully. Very carefully.
She had to navigate this constant urge to… well, to find out exactly what was under those flannel shirts.
“You’re not helping,” she muttered at Fred.
The lavender-shaded unicorn only stared into the abyss with one slightly crossed eye, offering absolutely nothing in the way of emotional support.
She exhaled and began clearing the last of Seth’s abandoned curiosities from the shelves. Half the items she didn’t even recognize and preferred not to examine too closely in case they sneezed glitter or summoned a genie with a union contract.
She stacked them into a box, shoved the lid down, and taped it shut, just in case.
When she’d secured the shop, she’d worried she’d outbid someone local, but Arla had assured her the Town Council had practically shoved the contract into her hands. They wanted to attract more humans to Honeybay. They wanted the town to grow. And they’d been impressed by the pâtisseries she’d run in the city.
She’d even agreed to take on an apprentice. Once the bakery was fully operational, she’d need the extra hands.
She’d heard a lot about the traditional methods the Others used, and she was fascinated by open-flame baking techniques where structure was coaxed from raw heat.
Dragons had perfected it, of course.
Now that she had a wood-fired oven of her own, she might as well use it.
She suspected Rhavor would appreciate that kind of craft.
Not that I would ever bake anything specifically for him,she told herself firmly, shoving the box into a corner with more force than necessary.
The fact that she was even considering what an infuriating dragon with attachment tendencies and glowing amber eyes might appreciate was entirely unreasonable.
She needed air.
Outside, the morning was bright and deceptively calm. Sunlight spilled across Honeybay in warm, golden stripes—the kind of light that made everything look like a postcard.
The lines of trees planted along the well-maintained street cast a pleasant, dappled shade over the walkway.
The air smelled faintly of salt, the heavy floral hit of early-summer blooms.
She made her way down the main street, passing a small square with a stone fountain at its center. At the top, a stone faun held a shell in a… very strategic position while water spilled over polished stone. It looked suspiciously like the man who had applied for her job.
The street was buzzing, and Sylvie tried not to stare, but her gaze kept snagging on the locals.
A minotaur in shorts and a T-shirt that readBULL’S EYEstrolled by, hand in hand with a willowy elf. They gave her a polite nod, and she found herself smiling back.
As she neared a small bookshop, the sky began to bruise.
She ducked inside just as low, heavy clouds rolled in.
She’d come in hoping to find something on baking with raw flame.
Just as she crossed the doors, she stopped.
This place didn’t look like any bookshop she knew.
