Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
S abine wrapped her hands around her teacup, drawing comfort from its warmth. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Every time I’m near him, I want to... to hold him. To tell him he doesn’t have to carry all that grief alone anymore. But then I remember he lost his mate eight hundred years ago, and I feel terrible for even thinking I could help. Like I’m trying to take her place or something.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Madame Zephyrine’s voice softened. “Do you think the heart has limits? That feelings come with an expiration date?”
“Of course not, but?—”
“No buts.” Neve squeezed Sabine’s hand. “A new connection doesn’t erase what came before—it helps heal, transforms, creates something entirely unique.”
“Like my cookies!” Felix brandished one triumphantly. “Same basic recipe, but each batch is different. Sometimes spicier, sometimes sweeter. Sometimes they explode a little?—”
“Felix.”
“What I mean is,” he continued, undaunted, “when it’s real, it doesn’t have to make sense. It just has to be true.” He fixed Sabine with an unusually serious look. “And what you’re feeling that bone-deep certainty, that’s as genuine as it gets.”
“But what if—” Sabine swallowed hard. “What if I can’t help him heal?”
“That’s his choice to make,” Madame Zephyrine said firmly. “Your only task is to be honest with yourself. The rest will follow.”
“Besides,” Felix added, “have you seen how he watches you? Like you’re the sun breaking through eight centuries of storm clouds.”
“He does not?—”
“Oh, he absolutely does.” Neve’s eyes twinkled. “Especially when you’re not looking. Though I particularly enjoyed the display when you fell into his arms. Very romantic.”
Sabine groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Does everyone know about that?”
“Small town, potent magic,” all three chorused.
“Speaking of romance,” Felix said brightly, “have you picked out a wedding dress yet? Because I know this amazing seamstress who specializes in flame-retardant?—”
“Felix!”
He grinned unrepentantly. “What? I’m just planning ahead. Though I suppose we should wait to see how tonight’s dinner unfolds first.”
Sabine’s head snapped up. “How did you know about?—”
“Please.” Madame Zephyrine waved an elegant hand. “News travels faster than Felix’s wing speed in Mystic Hollow. Speaking of which, shouldn’t you be getting ready?”
“I don’t even know what to wear,” Sabine admitted. “How do you dress for dinner with a dragon?”
“Personally, I’d avoid anything flammable,” Felix mused. “Though Ren’s usually pretty good about controlling his fire. Usually.”
“What our pyromaniac friend means,” Neve interjected, “is be yourself. Wear something that makes you feel confident. And Sabine?” She waited until their eyes met. “Don’t be afraid to show him how you feel. Sometimes the bravest thing we can do is open our hearts without guarantees.”
“Though if you want assurance,” Felix stage-whispered, “I’d bet my best cookie recipe that he’s already fallen hard for you. He just needs a little... nudge.”
“More like a shove,” Madame Zephyrine murmured. Louder, she said, “Drink this before you go.” She poured a cup of something that smelled of chamomile and starlight. “For courage.”
The tea spread a gentle calm through Sabine’s chest, easing the nervous flutter there. Her tigress relaxed too, purring at the comfort offered by these three unlikely advisors.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “For everything.”
“Just remember,” Felix called as she reached the door, “if he gets too broody, remind him that life’s too short for—” He paused. “Well, I guess for him it’s not actually that short, but you know what I mean.”
Sabine stepped out into the afternoon sun, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. Her heart felt lighter, even if questions still lingered. But maybe they were right. Maybe some things didn’t need all the answers. Maybe they just needed courage.
Now she just had to figure out what to wear to dinner with a dragon who made her soul sing. And hope she didn’t accidentally cause any more gardens to flourish in the process.