“Something like that probably; I cannot say for sure.”
A quiet understanding settled between us; he knew what that meant for me and I knew what that meant for him.
I’d banished love from my life long ago, fearful and grieving. I never thought I’d be here again. I never thought I’d allow myself to be here again. Love was such a treacherousthing, like a maze full of traps and ways to go wrong. One misstep and you’d end up beheaded—yet we risked it anyway.
We risked it all to be looked at the way Laken Augustus looked at me.
“Reece…” he began, but I interrupted.
“Tomorrow,” I blurted. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”
I knew the hard conversations had to happen and needed to unfold, but I wanted to enjoy the night with him before I ran out of them. Reaching behind me, I felt for his arm and slid my fingers into his, pulling his limbs over me. Cozying myself farther into him, I didn’t want to feel the air on my skin or the worry in my chest.
I wanted to feel Laken.
I wanted to feel at home.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
With the fundraiser starting in mere hours, we shimmied into dirty, damp clothes (my dress half-tied with a stray lace since Laken had ripped the back last night), grabbed two pig cages, and scuttled downstairs faster than Benedict bolted for the gate. The metal of the cages jingled against us as we ran, piling everything into the back of the cart and diving into the front seats. Sweaty, messy hair left my face as we rode, my bare feet were covered in a new layer of grainy sand, and my once-chaos-filled mind had but one worry left to solve: the fundraiser.
I’d saved as much money as I could. I’d sold healing cream, I’d sold hellblazer eggs, I’d gone to markets, I’d literally smuggled magical creatures out of an illegal auction.
We were so close, yet it still felt far.
Laken and I didn’t say much on the way back. My mind became too cluttered and stressed with things out of my control. All Laken did, and all I needed, was his hand covering mine with the stroke of his thumb over my skin.
Springtime had begun to slip from the world, losing its battle as summer drew closer. I could hardly find the crisp breeze in the early morning winds. Despite the storm last night, the morning brought scattered white clouds and soft, gentle rays of sun to dry the puddles left behind. The wind must’ve picked up during the night because branches had fallen over the streets. Laken hopped out to move them quickly, and before we knew it, we’d passed the old wood-and-stone sign reading:Honey Brooke.
After he dropped me off at the house, we shared a quick goodbye and hurried to get ready after settling the pigs into their new enclosure. The town would be quite disappointed if I, the charity case, came late to my own event. I tossed the front door open to find Maggie staring at me.
She wore a pale-orange dress, tight over her chest with a thin tied bow on the top and buttons trailing down her ribs. Perfectly ready and put together, as usual. After a minute of gawking, her eyes widened. Then narrowed. She took a step back and tilted her head.
“I don’t know if I want details,” she started, “or to know anything at all.” Her tone left the answer up in the air for debate.
“Well”—I moved past her for the stairs—“you can decide later, we’re going to be late!”
“You’regoing to be late,” she corrected. “I guess it’s a long story, then?”
I peeked my head around the corner of my room upstairs, naked and hiding everything but my face. “A long story indeed.”
Maggie frowned and whined, “Fine, but hurry up!”
For future self: when Faye Augustus offers to throw a fundraiser and plan everything—let her.
By the time Maggie and I strolled up to the town square, we hardly recognized it. Booths lined the edges of the field all the way around, offering everything from Ruth’s pies to Harold’s fishing lures. The sweet smell of banana cream warmed my soul, and I felt my body floating about, only to be tethered back by the crisp blackberry apple. We’d always joked about how Ruth had her way of working magic into pies, but I’d begun to believe they weren’t jokes at all. My mouth watered just walking by.
Behind our little ivy-covered town, the sun hung in the sky, spilling its golden haze over us and painting Honey Brooke in its image. A sunset fundraiser was Faye’s idea, too; she said the last hours of the day curated the “feeling” of our home. And I’d say she was right about that. A place to settle before night. A place to return to. A place to celebrate one another.
Maeve lifted the flower ceiling she’d picked up from us earlier. Maggie’s beautiful bouquets were spotted everywhere,around tables, the dance floors, the donation station. Her arrangements of hydrangeas and… baby’s breath.
“You used baby’s breath? But those are my—” My voice caught in my throat, barely speaking at all.
From my periphery, her lips curled. “Your favorites? Yeah.” She paused. “I think they belong today.”
They belong.
Maybe she was right. Maybe my filler flowers and I had finally found somewhere we were more than justthere. Maggie tugged on my arm where hers looped through it. “Oh, everything looks perfect, Reece.”
