“Coffee,” Rux mumbled into Mabon’s shoulder.
“You make it.”
“Too tired. I watched emotional humans all night.”
“Your idea.”
“Was not.”
Mabon extracted himself carefully, stepping over Urien. His dragon stirred, immediately orienting toward Sam’s cottage across town. The pull had grown stronger and more insistent each day. Soon, waiting would stop being an option and start being genuine torture.
By the time Mabon returned with coffee, both his mates had migrated to vertical positions. Rux sprawled in the wingback chair, hair escaping its tie. Urien sat cross-legged on the floor, looking far too alert for someone who’d slept beneath a coffee table.
“I’ve got it,” Urien announced before Mabon could distribute mugs. “A garden.”
“You have several gardens.”
“For Sam.” Urien’s eyes brightened to that particular blue that meant he’d latched onto an idea and wouldn’t release it. “His cottage has that patch of dirt by the door. Mostly weeds. I could transform it - install raised beds, plant herbs he’d actually use, create something beautiful andpermanent with his name spelled out in flowers.”
Mabon handed him coffee. “You want to landscape his property without permission.”
“As a gesture.”
“That’s vandalism.”
“It’s romantic.”
Rux snorted into his mug. “It’s creepy. ‘Hey, noticed your gardening situation while definitely not watching your house, fixed it, your name’s in pansies now.’”
“Salvias,” Urien corrected. “Pansies wouldn’t survive winter.”
“That doesn’t address the creepy part.”
Mabon settled onto the sofa, stretching his legs. His dragon pressed against his consciousness, demanding action. Planning felt like stalling, but charging into Sam’s life without a strategy had failed spectacularly three times already.
“Gardens take time,” Mabon pointed out gently. “We need something immediate.”
“Fine.” Urien wrapped both hands around his mug. “What’s your brilliant idea?”
Mabon had spent the last hour of terrible films thinking about exactly that. What did Sam need?
“Security,” Mabon said. “Financial security. I could set up an investment account in his name - something stable that generates passive income. Perhaps buy him a business or something similar. But it could be enough that he could quit the coffee shop if he wanted and focus on his writing.”
His idea was greeted with silence at first, then Rux started laughing - a full-body, gasping laughter that had him doubled over in the chair.
“You…” Rux wheezed. “You want to give our fourth money laundering concerns as a romantic gesture?”
“It’s not money laundering. It’s a properly structured portfolio.”
“‘Dear Sam, here’s mysterious wealth from strangers, love us please.’” Rux wiped his eyes. “That’s worse than the gold bar.”
“The gold bar was traditional.”
“The gold bar made him think we were criminals.”
Urien cleared his throat. “Both ideas show thoughtfulness.”
“Don’t encourage him,” Rux said. “My turn.” He set down his mug, straightening. “I’ll cook Sam dinner, not at his cottage because of Basil, but at a restaurant. I can rent out the whole place and create a tasting menu showcasing everything I’ve learned about his preferences. That would be intimate and personal, and it would show off my skill and devotion through food.”
