Breakfast is easy and comfortable after that, settling into a rhythm that feels both new and routine.
We move around each other without hesitation, like dancers who have been practicing this choreography for years instead of days. Plates are passed with casual touches, fingers brushing asEzra hands me the butter, Lucien’s hand settles briefly on my shoulder as he reaches for the orange juice. Coffee is poured and refilled without asking, and conversation slips into place like it always belonged there.
Ezra outlines his plan to return to the archives, speaking quietly about research he wants to cross-reference. Lucien mentions opening his shop for a few hours, needing to check on some inventory and handle correspondence with collectors. Maceo rolls his shoulders as he talks about checking in with his pack before heading back into town to work on a vintage bike restoration that’s been waiting in his shop.
I look around at the three of them, talking and planning around my kitchen table like this is something we have been doing for years instead of days. The domesticity of it hits me square in the chest, making me all warm and fuzzy.
When they kiss me goodbye, one after the other, there is no awkwardness in it, no hesitation or uncertainty. Ezra’s hand lingers briefly at the back of my neck, his lips soft and sure against mine, tasting faintly of coffee. Maceo’s thumb brushes slowly across my cheek before he captures my mouth in a kiss that’s all warmth and promise. Lucien’s lips are warm and unhurried against mine, taking his time like we have all day, but he doesn’t move to leave, pulling me to his side as Ez and Mace gather their things and head toward the front door.
“We’ll see you later,” Maceo says, jogging down the stone path toward his truck, Ezra follows behind at a more measured pace, raising his hand in a last sweet salute before they pull away from the manor in a chorus of engine sounds and gravel crunching under tires.
I nod, holding them both to that promise, watching until the trucks disappear around the curve of the road.
The town looks like itself again, I observe with relief as we make our way in for the day.
With the snow gone and the air crisp but not bitter, winter sunshine filters through bare branches to create intricate shadow patterns on the sidewalks, I can almost convince myself that all is well. The river moves steadily along its banks, sunlight catching on the surface like scattered rubies, as if nothing ever went wrong. Shop signs swing gently in the breeze, and here and there, ribbons and early Founder’s Day decorations have begun to appear, bright against the quiet. It’s as if the town is determined to move forward no matter what it has just endured.
Lucien’s hand finds mine as we walk down Main Street, his fingers threading through mine without thought, the simple contact sends warmth up my arm. His strong presence grounds me, washing away the last of the tension still lingering in my shoulders from everything we’ve been through.
Of course, his public display of affection doesn’t go unnoticed. All eyes are on us as we make our way down the street, the town’s collective awareness focusing on our joined hands like a spotlight.
Lin lifts a perfectly sculpted brow from the doorway of the Cackling Hen as we pass, her smile widening into something knowingly amused. Toni leans against the doorframe beside her, shaking her head with fond exasperation in response to whatever Lin has undoubtedly whispered to her.
“Morning, lovebirds,” Lin calls out, waving wildly with entirely too much enthusiasm, clearly delighted to have front-row seats to the latest Ruby Springs romance.
I laugh despite myself, lifting my free hand in greeting as Lucien only inclines his head with quiet elegance, completely unbothered by the attention. In fact, he seems to revel in it, lifting our joined hands to his lips he presses a soft kiss to my knuckles that makes half the cafe swoon visibly through the windows.
“Later,” I call back, rolling my eyes good-naturedly as we continue past, though I can’t quite suppress the smile tugging at my lips.
I sigh, because this is my new normal. This is what I’ve always wanted and wished upon the stars above for, a normality that didn’t involve being made to believe I was nothing more than a pawn to be used when convenient. Invisible unless needed. The unlovable plus-sized wannabe Witch with no magic and no worth.
“You’re thinking too hard, Sweetness. Get out of your head,” Lucien says gently, giving my hand a little squeeze, his thumb stroking across my knuckles in a soothing rhythm.
“How?” I stare up at him in genuine confusion, marveling at how he always seems to know when I’m spiraling. I know he can’t read my mind, but this man always knows when I’m standing on the edge of a cliff of my own making.
He smiles, that mysterious expression that’s equal parts fond and knowing, and taps his temple with his free hand. “I’m a magical being, Keisha. I have my own tricks up my sleeve. Your emotions change your scent, the rhythm of your breathing, the tension in your muscles. You’re an open book when you let yourself be vulnerable.”
By the time we reach Thorne Curiosities, I can almost breathe again.
Sir, who has been walking silently beside us with typical feline dignity, suddenly picks up his pace, moving ahead with purpose as we slow our approach.
Lucien stops in front of Bits and Bobs beside me, his thumb brushing once more across the back of my hand before he reluctantly releases it, the loss of contact immediate and jarring.
“I’m going to work for a while,” he says, though I catch the reluctance in his voice. “If you need anything?—”
“I know,” I reply, offering him what I hope is a reassuring smile, though my attention is already being drawn to Sir’s increasingly agitated behavior.
Lucien studies me for a moment longer, as if committing something to memory, then turns toward his own shop with obvious reluctance.
I take one step forward toward my own door, only to stop abruptly at Sir’s loud hiss of pure displeasure, a sound that raises the hair on my arms.
I stop behind him, about to question his obvious aggression when I see it and my blood runs cold.
The door to Thorne Curiosities stands slightly ajar. My first instinct is to call out to Lucien, to pull him back before I step closer. There’s no sign of a break-in that I can see from here, the glass isn’t shattered, nothing is hanging off its hinges, the frame looks intact. Just a gap in the door, maybe six inches wide, as if the lock simply wasn’t engaged. I know for damn sure I locked that door. Sir always does his nightly inspection, checking every lock, every ward, every protective measure before we make our way home. He takes his guardian duties seriously.
Beside me, Sir yowls loudly, his voice ringing through my head with telepathic force.“How dare someone violate the sanctity of my domain! This is absolutely unacceptable!”
His shout of outrage makes me wince at the sheer volume of it echoing in my skull. I force myself to take a steadying breath,no need for me to be swept away on the tide of his righteous fury. I need to focus on what I know, what I can observe with clear eyes.
