Chapter 32
Aric
I WAKE TO SUNLIGHT AND the unfamiliar weight of someone in my arms.
For a moment, I’m disoriented—this isn’t my dorm room, this isn’t my pillow—and then everything from last night comes rushing back, and I look down to find Poppy held in my arms.
She’s still asleep, curled against me with her head on my chest and one hand resting over my heart. Her hair is a mess, falling across her face, and her glasses are still on the bedside table where she left them last night. Without them, she looks different somehow. A bit softer.
I’m careful not to move, not wanting to wake her yet. I just want to stay here a little longer, memorizing this moment: the weight of her against me, the soft sound of her breathing, the way the morning light makes her lavender hair almost glow.
Last night was . . . amazing. And unexpected. I didn’t think anything was going to happen, let alone—
Nope. Too early for that.
I force myself to stop that train of thought before my body gets the wrong idea about what’s going on right now.
Poppy stirs against me, making a small sleepy sound. I run my fingers gently through her hair, careful not to snag on any tangles.
“Mm,” she murmurs, pressing closer. “What time is it?”
“Early,” I say quietly. “I think the sun just came up.”
She’s silent for a moment, and I wonder if she’s going to go back to sleep. But then she tilts her head up to look at me, squinting without her glasses.
“Hi,” she says, her voice still rough with sleep.
“Hi yourself.” I brush a strand of hair from her face. “How’d you sleep?”
“Better after . . .” She trails off, pink rising in her cheeks. “After everything.”
“Yeah.” I lean forward and press a kiss to her forehead. “Me too.”
We lie there in comfortable silence for a while, watching as the light brightens, turning the room a shade of warm gold as it sneaks around the curtains drawn over the window.
I can hear the village waking up outside—the distant sound of a rooster, cart wheels on cobblestones, someone calling out a friendly greeting.
Eventually, though, reality has to intrude.
“I guess we should get up,” Poppy says, though I don’t think she sounds happy about it. “The carriage is coming to take us back this morning.”
“Yeah,” I say, but I keep holding her. I’m not sure I want this moment to end.
Finally, she pulls away, sitting up and immediately reaching for her glasses.
Once they’re on, she looks down at me—still sprawled on the bed, blankets tangled around my legs—and her eyes widen slightly, like she’s only just now fully processing that we spent the night together, wrapped in each other.
“I should—I need to get dressed,” she says quickly, slipping from bed and practically fleeing to the washroom with her travel bag.
I sit up with a groan and push my hands through my messy hair, then yank it up into a knot on top of my head. My neck is sore from the angle I was sleeping at, and my arm is still half asleep from being Poppy’s pillow, but I don’t mind. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.
Hopefully I get the chance to do it again.
I get dressed and try to make the bed look somewhat presentable, smoothing out the blankets and fluffing the pillows. The couch still has my blankets piled on it, so I grab those and fold them up, then leave them on the cushions.
When Poppy emerges from the washroom, fully dressed with her hair pulled back, she won’t quite meet my eyes.
“Hey,” I say gently, crossing the room to her. “You okay?”
She nods, but she’s fidgeting with the strap of her bag, and her shoulders look tight.
“Poppy.” I wait until she looks up at me. “What’s wrong? You can talk to me.” After a beat, I add, “Are you . . . regretting last night?”
“No!” she says quickly, her eyes widening. “Not at all.” Then, quieter, she adds, “I just . . . I’ve never . . .” With a shake of her head, she lets out a long breath. “I’m just a bit nervous, I guess.”
“I get it. But you don’t have to be.” I reach out and tuck a stray wisp of hair behind her ear, where she didn’t quite get it pulled back into her braid. “And for what it’s worth . . .” I give her a lopsided smile. “I’ve done stuff before, but not with someone I care about this much.”
The tension in her shoulders eases, and her cheeks start to go pink. “Really?”
“Really.”
And it’s the truth. I’ve dated some amazing girls, but I never saw flashes of a future with them—not like I did yesterday, imagining a little cottage with Poppy, imagining what a life with her might look like.
But I remind myself again that it’s way too early to be thinking like that.
I don’t think we’re even officially dating yet.
And if I told Poppy, she’d probably take off running.
“Don’t worry,” I say instead. “We’re good. Better than good.”
She finally smiles, small but genuine. “Okay.”
“Good. Now let’s get some breakfast. I’m starving.”
MRS. BLUEWREN SERVES US WARM oatmeal sprinkled with cinnamon, fresh fruit, and thick slices of toast. We eat in the inn’s dining room, which is mostly empty this early in the morning except for one elderly couple in the corner.
Poppy is quiet, stirring honey into her oatmeal without really eating it.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask.
She glances up and adjusts her glasses. “Oh, um . . . the dream I had. Before I woke you up.”
“The scary one?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you wanna tell me about it?”
She sets her spoon down and leans back in her chair. “Sometimes it’s hard to know what my dreams are trying to tell me. But . . . I feel like this one was telling me that if I let fear control me, I might ruin this.” Her face falls, and she worries at her bottom lip.
“You won’t—”
“But I could,” she interrupts, catching me off guard with the intensity in her voice. “I could mess this up.” She looks at me with those wide lavender eyes. “I don’t want to do that. But I don’t know how not to.”
I reach across the table and take her hand. “Then we’ll help each other. If you start to get afraid and pull away, I’ll remind you not to. And you do the same for me when I’m being an idiot.”
Her lips twist into a small smile. “You’re not an idiot.”
“I can be.” I squeeze her hand. “Trust me, I’m very good at self-sabotage.”
That gets a laugh out of her, and it seems to help her shake off some of her tension.
“Now eat up, Brains. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”
She picks up her spoon again, and this time she actually eats.
We finish breakfast talking about lighter things—the prairie fish from the carriage ride, the chaos of Aurora’s family, whether Harrison the cat was judging us from his spot on the table. We determine that he probably was. Cats are judgy like that.
After breakfast, we spend the morning exploring Faunwood one last time. We visit the bookshop again, stop by the market for some candied nuts for the ride back to the academy, and end up sitting on a bench in the village square, watching people go about their day.
“I like it here,” Poppy says quietly, the sunlight reflecting off her glasses. “It’s peaceful.” She takes a deep breath of the crisp autumn air. “And it smells good. Like bread.”
Her words make me think about Alden’s offer, about the workshop, about what it would be like to live in a place like this.
About whether Poppy would ever want that too.
But I don’t say any of that. Not yet. We just had one really good night together. Bringing up the possibility of me moving here after graduation feels like too much.
So instead, I just put my arm around Poppy’s shoulders and pull her close, and we sit there in the autumn sunshine until it’s time to go.
THE CARRIAGE ARRIVES LATE IN the morning, the same driver from before tipping his hat to us as I load our bags.
“Have a good visit?” he asks.
“We did,” I say, taking Poppy’s hand and helping her into the carriage. “Thank you.”
“A visit to Faunwood is always a good visit,” he says, and I’m inclined to believe him.
The ride back feels different than the ride here. Poppy sits close to me, and we share the candied nuts we bought in the market. Her head eventually finds its way onto my shoulder as the miles roll by outside the carriage windows.
“Aric?” she says softly.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you for last night. For being patient with me.”
I press a kiss to the top of her head. “Always.”
She’s quiet for a moment, then says, “I’m going to try to be braver. To not let fear ruin this.”
“I know you will,” I say. “And I’m gonna try too.”
Because the truth is, I’m just as scared as she is. Scared of messing this up, scared of the apprenticeship decision, scared of the distance that might be coming between us.
But there’s no doubt in my mind that she’s worth the risk.
That we’re worth the risk.
And as the carriage carries us back to Coven Crest, I let myself believe that we might be able to figure this out without either of us getting hurt.