CHAPTER TWENTY
Skye
I pop a few candy hearts into my mouth and roll them across my tongue, waiting for the familiar taste to offer a bit of cinnamon-fueled courage.
After sharing a nod with Princess Buttercup, I ease open the door to Luke’s castle, wincing at the sound it makes.
If only it weren’t a giant slab of wood that could double as a fudging ark in the event of flooding, because “small” and “quiet” are pretty much the last words you’d ever use to describe this door.
I just… I want one more night to gather myself before I have to face Luke again.
One more night to soothe the hurt of his disinterest—or maybe “clinical interest” is a better descriptor.
He’s just so gorgeous, and I’ve crushed on him for months, so to finally be with Luke only for it to mean nothing to him… it’s a lot.
Princess Buttercup slips through the crack, and I follow, sidling sideways, my boobs squished almost flat.
I watch my feet as I pivot around the edge of the door, holding onto it to keep it from slamming shut.
It inches closed, settling into place with one last snick, and I exhale in relief.
I did it—I got in without him noticing. That was the hardest part. Now I just need to sneak up to my—
“Mom,” Princess Buttercup says, her voice as loud as normal. “You need to turn around.”
“Shhh. He’ll hear you,” I whisper-hiss. But I do as she says and spin, only to stumble backwards in shock, hand pressed to chest, shoulder blades bumping against the door.
Luke looms over me, scowling down at Princess Buttercup. “I gestured for you to remain quiet.”
“Yeah, well, she’s my witch.” She weaves a circle around my ankles before standing beside me, her body pressed against my leg in a reassuring touch. “I’m on her side, not yours.”
Luke grunts and turns his attention to me, the sharp lines of his face drawn into an unfamiliar expression.
It’s not any of the variations of grumpy face I’ve gotten good at interpreting.
I don’t get any time to figure out where it fits on the scale, because he thrusts his arms forward with a crinkle of paper.
I’ve been so focused on his face I didn’t notice he’s holding something.
“Oh!” I press a hand to trembling lips as he lifts his offering higher.
It’s a massive bouquet of gorgeous pink roses wrapped in light-pink paper and dark-pink curly ribbon.
He tips it into my arms, and it’s so big I have to hold it like a baby.
Each flower looks unbelievably perfect, glowing with health.
I feel a faint tingle of magic as I lift them to my face to breathe in their divine scent.
“These are magical roses! I’ve never felt so much magic from plants before, not even the walking tulips. ”
“They were grown by Severin.” Luke tips his head toward the flowers. “Yet I don’t think it’s the roses you’re feeling.”
My nose scrunches. What does that mean?
“Look closer.”
I squint down at the bouquet, moving a couple of blooms aside to expose a stem topped with a book cover instead of a flower!
It’s the next book in the paranormal romance series I’m reading for the Witch Bitch Spicy Book Club.
I keep digging, finding more miniature romance book “flowers,” all of them from my Tbr.
“Thank you! It’s lovely.” I smile up at him. “How did you know which books to pick?”
“I had Rune text Autumn. She knew of a website where you had all of your books listed.”
That’s so sweet!
“I want to see,” Princess Buttercup demands, her front paws propped on my thighs as she strains upward.
I lean over until she can take a good sniff, her little bunny nose wiggling. She jerks backward as if horrified. “Ugh. That’s not chicken.”
My lips twitch as I straighten. She does this all the time, demanding to smell everything I eat, then rearing away from fruit like it tried to attack her.
“Of course it’s not chicken.” Luke’s finger traces the edge of the wrapping paper. “It’s a book bouquet.”
I nod. It sure is, only it’s not like the ones you see on Instagram, which have real books one can read.
I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with the miniatures.
Maybe I can arrange the book flowers into a decoration of some kind, like a wreath.
He clearly put a lot of thought and effort into this, and as they say, it’s the thought that counts.
Especially when it means Luke’s been thinking of me—and thinking of me a lot.
He had to recognize what I like (romance books), discover a way to determine which ones I actually want (sleuthing my Tbr list), then create the miniature books, attach them to stems, and mix them in with some of the most romantic flowers you can give a girl.
“No,” he grumbles, a note of impatience filling his voice. “It’s an actual book bouquet.”
I bite my lip to keep from grinning. If this is supposed to be an apology, it sure is a grumpy one. But that’s okay, because it means it’s sincere.
“Pluck one of the books.” He taps a claw against the bouquet.
“Okay…” I reach for a book, the rose petals soft as they brush against my skin.
My first tentative tug does nothing, so I pull a little harder, and the book releases from the stem with a faint pop, growing in my grip until I hold a regular-sized paperback.
My thumb ruffles the edge, fanning the pages.
“It’s a real book! How?” I look up at him in amazement.
“They all are. Normal book bouquets only hold a few books. That was inferior to my needs,” Luke growls. Then a note of superiority enters his voice. “I therefore created a new miniaturization spell. This bouquet contains a dozen books.”
I stand there gobsmacked, my mouth hanging open.
Luke created an entire fudging spell just to give me a present?
No one’s ever done anything like that for me before, and the thought that this grumpy, superior dragon made that much effort for me…
I can barely stand it. My heart flutters, banging around the birdcage of my chest, bursting with joy.
I feel jittery, like my skin’s too tight, like I need to move.
But I remain frozen in confusion, remembering how clinical he was about having sex with me, remembering my promise to stop over-romanticizing everything.
“Why?” I lick my lips, my mouth dry, and whisper, “Why did you do all of this?”
“To apologize.” His voice sounds strained, as if he’s forcing the words out.
That unfamiliar look pinches his face again, and I can finally interpret it: remorse.
“Up until these past weeks with you, I haven’t interacted regularly with anyone for years.
” His wings rustle. “Or more accurately, decades.”
“I don’t understand. I thought there were lots of dragons in Alarria.”
“There are.” His voice goes a little hollow. “As you may have noticed, I cannot shift into my full fae form. An event centuries ago damaged my magic. Other adult dragons sense that disfigurement and find me difficult to be around.”
My heart pinches. That must be so lonely.
“Yet my research skills make me useful. When people seek my company, it’s always been for my magical expertise.
I was called in to help Naomi with her teleportation powers, to help May with her telepathy.
Even when I moved here to Earth, most of my interactions have occurred when others want me to research something in my library, such as Severin asking about finding Hannah’s hidden powers or Rune asking how to break Autumn’s wish swap.
” He raises a hand. “I know all of this sounds like an excuse, and I don’t mean for it to be.
I simply want you to understand that I’ve gotten used to being valuable because of my knowledge. ”
“Luke.” I reach for his hand, my heart breaking for him.
“I will not lie—I also like doing research. It’s what I’m good at.” His tail snakes around to brush over my calves in a gentle caress. “Yet I made a mistake yesterday. I never meant to reduce our encounter to notes on parchment.”
My mouth opens and closes. I have no idea what to say.
There’s a lot to unpack here. I can’t imagine what it must have been like to live for centuries with no interactions but cold, clinical ones.
How crushingly lonely. When he mentions his past, the only tiny sparks of warmth I’ve seen are when he talks about the dragon younglings.
I think things have been slowly changing for him here in Ferndale Falls.
I’ve seen him at The Thirsty Tusk, drinking with the other fae men.
He comes to town meetings, but he stands in the back.
He used to have Rune for company, but now that the werewolf sits with Autumn, Luke stands alone.
Things clearly need to change even more for him.
“Skye?” he squeezes my hand, his golden eyes watching me with an intensity I feel to my toes. His tail tightens around my legs.
“Thank you for your apology.” I meet his gaze. “I forgive you.”
Aunt Irene always complains that my squishy heart forgives too easily, but not this time. No, this is the best apology I’ve ever received.
And the way his lips curl on the left is a reward in and of itself, the gift of Luke’s true smile.
As I lie in bed, trying to fall asleep, my mind won’t stop mulling over all of the things Luke told me about his life. The people pleaser in me longs to fix it, to heal the hurts of his past and make it like they never were. But I can’t go back in time, can’t change what happened.
So I toss and turn, my legs kicking at the sheets until Princess Buttercup stands and yowls a complaint, “Will you stop that?”
“Sorry.”
She snorts and turns in place three times before flopping right back down on the same spot on the bed.