Chapter Twenty-Five
Mabon
“We told him the truth,” Mabon said. “He said yes. Everything else should be simple.”
“Nothing about this has been simple so far.” Urien twisted another button off his shirt.
Rux emerged from the kitchen with flour in his hair. “What if he changes his mind? What if he woke up this morning and realized we’re completely insane?”
“We’re not insane. We’re dragons.” Mabon stopped pacing. “We can do this. This is a casual coffee in a public place, meaning it’s a very low-pressure date.”
“Are you sure?” Urien sounded doubtful. “You tried to buy his workplace.”
“That was different.”
“And you called his drink basic,” Rux added from the kitchen door.
“I apologized for that already.”
Urien held up his ruined shirt. “I need another one. Should we feel bad because we’ve been watching his cottage from the bushes?”
“We’re not mentioning that part.” Mabon pulled out his phone and checked the time again.
They had two hours until Sam’s shift ended.
“We meet him at the Daily Bean. We order coffee like normal people. We sit. We talk. We don’t order six drinks, we don’t tip forty-seven dollars, and we definitely don’t attempt to purchase anything except the coffee. ”
Rux nodded. “Right. That will be us being normal.”
“We’ve never been normal,” Urien muttered.
“Then we’ll fake it.”
/~/~/~/~/
They arrived at the Daily Bean at exactly four-thirty, which meant they’d been parked down the street for twenty minutes debating who should open the door to the café first. Mabon won – he was their unofficial group leader, and that meant going first into risky situations.
The bell chimed as they entered, and Mabon’s heart stone blazed immediately because Sam stood near the counter, already off shift, wearing that same blue jumper, looking nervous and slightly overwhelmed. When their eyes met, Sam’s face went pink.
Behind the counter, a young woman with bright purple hair - Maya, Mabon’s dragon supplied helpfully, the friend who believed in soulmates - gave Sam the most exaggerated double thumbs up Mabon had ever witnessed.
Sam’s blush deepened to crimson.
“Hi,” Sam said.
Mabon’s brain stopped working.
Rux saved them. “Hi, we’re here for coffee, with you. Not separately, but together.”
“Very smooth,” Urien murmured.
Sam’s nervous expression cracked into a smile. “I’m glad you came.”
“Of course we came.” Mabon finally remembered how words worked. “We’ve been looking forward to this.”
“Since yesterday,” Rux added.
“Since before yesterday,” Urien corrected. “Since we first saw you.”
Sam ducked his head, adjusting his glasses. “That’s...really sweet, actually.”
Maya made a noise behind the counter that sounded suspiciously like a squeal.
Mabon shot her a look, but she just grinned back, completely unrepentant, making elaborate kissy faces at Sam when he wasn’t looking.
Dragons didn’t typically feel embarrassed, which meant Mabon had discovered a brand new emotion.
“Should we sit?” Sam gestured toward a corner table. “I already ordered. Thought it might be easier than...” He trailed off, glancing at Rux. “You know, the six coffee situation.”
Rux had the decency to look sheepish. “I told you, I panicked.”
“I noticed.”
They migrated toward the table in an awkward cluster, Mabon acutely aware of how all three of them probably looked like they were escorting Sam through enemy territory instead of across a coffee shop.
Sam slid into a chair. Mabon took the seat across from him. Rux and Urien flanked them, completing what probably looked like the world’s most intense coffee intervention.
“So,” Sam said.
“So,” Mabon echoed.
Silence stretched.
Maya appeared with a tray of drinks, setting them down with unnecessary flourish. “Four lattes. Extra foam on two. Enjoy your totally normal, not-at-all-unusual date.” She winked and disappeared before Mabon could respond.
Sam groaned and dropped his face into his hands. “She knows something’s different. She’s been interrogating me all day.”
“What did you tell her?” Urien asked carefully.
“Only that I’m seeing someone, well…three someones. She thinks it’s the most romantic thing she’s ever heard.”
Mabon’s dragon preened. Their Treasure had claimed them publicly.
Sam cleared his throat. “So. What do you three do? Like, day-to-day stuff?”
Thank goodness. Mabon was good at answering questions. “I manage investments. Market trading, portfolio diversification, and that sort of thing.”
“He stares at numbers until three in the morning,” Rux cut in.
“It’s called dedication to…”
“It’s called insomnia.” Rux turned to Sam. “He’ll text at two a.m. about Tokyo markets like anyone else cares.”
Sam’s lips twitched. “Do you care?”
“No. I’m usually still awake anyway.”
“Cooking,” Urien supplied.
“Exactly.” Rux leaned forward, and Mabon watched Sam’s attention shift to him, watched the way Sam’s eyes crinkled at the corners when Rux got animated.
“There’s this beautiful quiet in the kitchen late at night.
Just you, the ingredients, and the process.
Last week I spent four hours making puff pastry from scratch because the store-bought stuff has no soul. ”
“Four hours?” Sam’s eyebrows rose behind his glasses.
“Completely worth it. The lamination alone…” Rux caught himself and grinned. “I’m boring you.”
“You’re really not.” Sam sounded genuine. “I burned pasta last Tuesday.”
Mabon bit back a smile. He’d watched Sam make that pasta.
Or rather, he’d watched him get distracted by his laptop, by Basil demanding attention, by the sheer exhaustion of working a full shift at the café.
Sam hadn’t burned it badly, just overcooked the noodles by a few minutes, but he’d looked so frustrated with himself that Mabon’s dragon had wanted to materialize in the kitchen and take over cooking duties permanently.
One, Mabon wasn’t a great cook, that was Rux. Two, that would have violated approximately fifteen different Council protocols, so it was not the best idea he’d ever had, but his heart stone was in the right place.
“Everyone burns pasta,” Rux said kindly.
“I’ve never burned pasta,” Urien murmured.
“You’ve never cooked pasta.”
“Fair point.”
Sam laughed, and the sound hit Mabon square in the chest. His heart stone flared in response, and he had to resist the urge to press his hand over it.
“What about you?” Sam turned to Urien. “What keeps you busy?”
“The gardens, mostly.” Urien cradled his latte in both hands. “Right now, I’m trying to establish a proper herb spiral. The drainage is tricky with our soil composition.”
“The thing you built by the greenhouse?” Rux asked. “The stone structure?”
“That’s the one.”
Sam leaned in, genuinely interested. “What kind of herbs?”
And just like that, they were talking, the awkwardness dissolving like sugar in hot tea.
Urien described the challenge of recreating proper growing conditions and the satisfaction of coaxing basil and oregano from their soil.
Sam asked questions that showed he’d actually listened when Urien talked about the Brandywine tomatoes, and made connections between drainage patterns and plant health that had Urien’s eyes lighting up.
Mabon watched Sam’s face as he talked, cataloging every expression.
The little furrow between his brows when he was thinking.
The way he pushed his glasses up when he got excited.
The soft smile that appeared when Rux told a story about accidentally setting a soufflé on fire - twice, in the same afternoon - because he’d gotten distracted trying to get the chocolate ganache just right.
“You made another one after the first one caught fire?” Sam was grinning now.
“The timing was right the second time. The fire was just...bonus ambiance.”
“That’s not how ovens work.”
“It is if you’re committed to the process.”
Sam shook his head, but he was laughing, and Mabon felt something loosen in his chest. This is actually working. Four people around a table, their drinks growing cold, the rest of the café fading into background noise, as they all chatted with each other.
Maya passed by their table, not even pretending subtlety as she gave Sam another enthusiastic thumbs up. Sam caught her at it and went red again. “She’s never going to let me hear the end of this.”
“The end of what?” Mabon asked, keeping his voice carefully neutral even as his dragon demanded to know exactly what Maya had said, what theories she was developing, and more importantly, whether she approved.
“She thinks...” Sam traced the rim of his cup. “She’s been saying for months that I needed to put myself out there more. Meet people. And now…”
“Now you’re having coffee with three men who’ve been really bad at courtship,” Urien finished.
Sam’s smile went soft. “You haven’t been that bad.”
“We tried to buy this place,” Mabon reminded him.
“Okay, that part was weird.”
“Stalked your cottage from the bushes,” Rux added.
“You did what?”
“Nothing. Forget I said it. Nothing.”
/~/~/~/~/
The coffee had grown cold twice over, replaced, then abandoned again as conversation meandered from gardening to cooking to Mabon’s worst investment disasters - including the time he’d accidentally bought a haunted vineyard in Tuscany.
“You’re joking.” Sam was grinning, eyes bright behind his glasses.
“I wish. The ghosts were very particular about their wine.”
“Did you sell it?”
“Eventually, to a vampire with boundary issues.” Mabon caught himself. “That’s...also a thing that exists.”
“Of course it is.” Sam didn’t even look fazed anymore. “What’s next, werewolves?”
“Two packs in Scotland,” Urien supplied. “Lovely people, although they have terrible table manners during full moons.”
Rux snorted into his third latte.
Mabon checked his watch – it was nearly six - and felt his dragon protest immediately. Sam was laughing, relaxed, the wariness from yesterday had been replaced by something softer, and Mabon wanted to freeze the moment and preserve it like one of the rare books in his collection.
But part of looking after a Treasure meant meeting their every need. Basil would be waiting. Sam worked early shifts. Their mate needed sleep and to keep to his routines in a life that didn’t revolve entirely around dragons who’d already disrupted everything.
“We should let you get home,” Mabon heard himself say, even as every instinct screamed against it.
Sam blinked. “Oh. Right. Yeah.” Was that disappointment in his voice?
They stood, the table suddenly too small for four people trying to navigate around chairs. Maya went past, her grin wicked.
Sam grabbed his jacket from a nearby rack, shrugged it on, and fumbled with the zipper. “This was...this was really nice.”
“We didn’t traumatize you further?” Rux asked.
“Not even a little.”
But before they could move toward the door, Sam reached across the table.
His hand found Mabon’s first, fingers warm and certain, squeezing once before moving to Rux, then Urien.
The touch lasted maybe three seconds total, but it branded itself into Mabon’s soul, and he knew Urien and Rux felt the same way.
“Thank you for being honest with me,” Sam said quietly. “For trusting me with this.”
Mabon’s heart stone blazed hot enough that he had to resist checking whether it was glowing through his shirt.
Beside him, Rux had gone very still, and Urien’s breath caught audibly.
It really sounded like their Treasure was accepting them, and choosing them despite everything that had happened before.
“We’ll do better,” Mabon promised.
Sam’s smile was crooked, genuine. “You’re doing just fine.”