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Dermot stood at the edge of the gathering crowd, cornered by Gwendolyn and looking a little panicked.

The bell above the door rang again, and everyone scooted out of the way as Grace and Montrose appeared, shouldering hair back from their faces as they heaved a huge cloth-draped piece of furniture through the door. No sooner had Fia hurried over to help than Grace, with a flourish, tossed back the covering.

“Look what I found you!” she squealed, practically drooling over the antique armchair that stood between them.

“It’s beautiful,” Fia gushed, taking in the dove-gray brocade and the down-filled cushions that felt so homey. As she pulled her friend against her with thanks, Montrose and Penbrook maneuvered the antique to its place beside the blue tufted chair—every bit of it cleaned of ash—that had always sat before the fireplace alone.

Stealing a moment to herself, Fia looked around—at everyone smiling, at her shop so full—her happiness all the sweeter for the company. A steady stream of customers popped in and out throughout the day, enough to keep Fia busy, talking with her neighbors, writing spells, and serving belly-warming cups of tea just as she’d wanted.

And Penbrook, well, his illusions kept him busy too, because yes, yes, yes, like that star-made wish come true, he’d decided to stay.

He’d sent off a brief note to his parents, letting them know the curse had been broken and that he wasn’t coming home. They’d sent a blustering note in reply about his poor choices, his disrespect for the Madbury name, his father’s humiliation.

Penbrook had only sighed as he’d cast the paper into the fire, a grim satisfaction in having horrified his father once again.

“I’ll give them your best the next time I see them,” Andromeda had said, then grinned, pulling Penbrook in for a hug. She’d reached for Fia next.

“I’m going to miss you.” Fia had squeezed her new friend tight. Wishing she could stay too but understanding that Andromeda had her whole life waiting for her back in Fantillian.

“More hearts to break, and all that.” Penbrook had pleasantly smirked.

Andromeda had ignored him, whispering to Fia, “Oh, you’ll be out to visit me soon, won’t you?”

And Fia had promised she would.

Now, as she straightened a display of Dahl’s Love Drops, she peeked across the room at Penbrook and the small group surrounding him. His familiar smile was charmingly in place, hair artfully fallen across his forehead, that one snipped strand not quite grown back yet.

Sparks of magic bloomed in the air above him as he drew a shimmering rainbow and sent it flying right through the glass and into the gray sky beyond. It stretched and stretched, as if it might reach all the way to Harrow or Glory. Everyone rushed over to the window, and some even dashed outside into the cold, staring up and up in awe.

Fia arranged the last bottle, then slipped over to Penbrook.

“So you do like stripes,” she said, nodding at the window, where one end of the rainbow could be seen glimmering over the street, turning the sprinkling rain into multifaceted drops of color.

“I suppose there are exceptions to everything,” he said.

That evening, Fia and Penbrook found themselves alone.

The spellshop was quiet and exceptionally cozy, touched with the lingering warmth of their departed friends and the fire that glowed golden in the hearth. They sat across from each other, Fia tucked into the dove-gray armchair with Finnick curled on her lap, Penbrook in the blue tufted chair that had always been there, and it was almost like he had always been there too. He lounged so comfortably on the cushions, the fire crackling as he sketched her form for the very first time, unaware of how he made her heart skip fast even while she was sitting perfectly still.

But her nose itched, and she desperately wanted to scratch it.

“Once again, your nose is twitching,” he murmured, dark eyes on the paper before him, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You’d better not be drawing me with whiskers.” She laughed, and since she’d broken the pose anyway, she finally scratched her nose.

“I would never,” Penbrook said, sketching another line or two, his hand ever graceful. “And I told you, you don’t have to sit like a statue. Do you need a break?” He glanced up, a stick of charcoal caught between his fingers.

She liked the softness of his gaze and the closeness of this moment. She didn’t want to interrupt it even to stretch—and she didn’t know how to voice her feelings. “I… That is…”

“Yes?”

“Finnick’s quite content, I think.”

“Spoiled thing,” Penbrook said as she ran her hand over the cat’s back, and then his attention returned to the page, a concentrated expression furrowing his brows. The moment closed around them again, gently extending.

Fia let herself relax, enjoying the downy smoosh of the chair Grace had chosen for her, and the sensation she had of feeling truly at home. In a space that could hold memories of her mother but had also become Fia’s own. She was right where she wanted to be.

And right with the person she wanted to be with.