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What might not heal, she told herself, was the break in her heart left by Silas. Her coldness had clearly driven him away for good; hadn’t Elliott said as much? Perhaps that was another mistake of hers, not in trusting Silas in the first place. He’d made a mistake, one entirely from his kind nature. An awful, terrible mistake, but a mistake, nonetheless. And she’d thrown him out for it.

Would she never stop pushing people away?

She would have to try.

She scrubbed her hands in the sink and changed her clothes, but the voices downstairs were too loud and too tempting to ignore. Margaret’s mother had always said that a full pub was revitalizing to a Nettle, and Margaret needed that revitalization now. She drifted downstairs. And she saw something that shocked her.

The pub was glittering with decorations. Her mother’s evergreen garlands were strewn in every corner. Other plants hung from the rafters or were spelled to float near the ceiling, glistening with frost and sparkle. There was a giant tree in the corner across from the fireplace, decked in every ornament Margaret’s mother and grandmother had ever owned. But beyond those decorations that she recognized were others: hand-painted nutcrackers, paper snowflakes, gold beads, and several papier-mâché dragons that were each wearing Santa hats.

And the people.

So many of them.

She spotted Liza and Imogen at once, each spelling the other end of a red-and-white ribbon garland. But there was also Sarah, Old Man Weatherby, Mervin, Norma, and every shopkeeper Margaret had ever spoken to. They’d brought pastries they’d made, and flowers dotted every corner. And there were her regulars. There were people she’d never seen before.

And there, putting a star on the tree, was Silas.

Did he feel her gaze? He must have. He turned to her, star still in hand, and his blue eyes flared at the sight of her. He placed the star on the tree and then stepped back, as if asking her permission to stay.

The room fell to a hush when she reached the bottom stair, but Liza cleared her throat so that chatter resumed while Margaret glided to Silas. When she reached him by the tree, both her heart and her lip trembled.

“You did all this?” Margaret asked.

He nodded. “With Liza and Imogen and the others. After all, your relaunch is tonight,” he said.

“My relaunch?” Margaret repeated. “I called that off. And Hyde and Jeremiah . . . they said no one had committed.”

Silas chuckled. “Everyone said yes when I checked in with them. Apparently, Hyde and Jeremiah didn’t give off . . . well, the details were a bit unclear. But everyone’s here now. And people will keep coming, if the numbers I took down are right.”

Silas’s hand twitched like he wanted to take hers, but he restrained himself.

“There’s more,” he said. “But it’s outside. May I show you?”

Margaret arched an eyebrow, but she nodded. Together, they exited the pub. And as soon as she was on the threshold, she gasped.

There were five baby hippogriffs in a small pen set up outside the pub, looked after by Mervin, who grinned and waved at her. Village children were squealing with laughter as they took turns petting the pony-size creatures, and the hippogriffs themselves were snorting happily at all of the attention.

“Oh . . . my god?” Margaret said. “Did you set up a hippogriff petting zoo?”

“Well, that wasn’t actually the surprise,” Silas said, but he smiled just the same. “That’s just part of the relaunch. This over here is the surprise.”

And he put his fingertips to his lips and whistled. The baby hippogriffs tilted their heads at the noise, but otherwise, nothing happened. At least, not until Margaret saw a figure come round the corner.

A very sheepish, guilty figure.

“Patrick,” Margaret said, and she couldn’t help the chill in her voice. Wyatt was one thing. But Patrick . . .

“Margaret,” Patrick said, stepping forward. He was carrying something, a sort of box that he held under his arm. “I came to apologize. I . . . took things too far.”

Margaret glared at him. “You think?”

She turned to Silas. “This is my surprise? A half-assed apology from the man who tried to ruin me?”

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” Patrick said before Silas could respond. “But I did want to give you something in person. Silas, here . . . well, he thought you would want to see it and hear it from the source.”

Patrick moved the box from under his arms, opening it so that Margaret saw the rows of glass vials inside. At first, she didn’t understand what she was looking at. And then . . .

“Those are from my grandmother’s garden,” she said, eyes widening. “They’re the plants you stole.”