Not Yet #2
He knelt beside the pit, tossing in tinder and stirring the glowing coals.
She hovered a step behind, watching him in silence.
Every movement pulled at her: the quiet ripple of muscle beneath his shirt, the curve of his back, the soft brown hairs on his forearms catching the firelight.
A strand of hair fell across his forehead, and she wanted to brush it away—wanted it so badly it made her fingers ache.
The awareness settled low in her belly. Not a thought, not even an emotion, but an older weight—something wordless. A pull. A want. Her pulse beat hard, as if it had been swept into a faster current.
She’d known Collin all her life. He was familiar, safe, hers in the way old friends could be. And yet, now, standing here, he felt like a stranger—new, radiant, impossible to look away from.
The realization scattered her thoughts. She blinked. He was speaking. His voice had woven through the air like smoke, and she hadn’t caught a single word.
He glanced up, smiling—blue eyes bright, waiting for her to answer.
But Hadria burst through the cabin door and rushed toward them, her hair wild from the heat. “Dragonfly! Come inside and let Collin finish up. He looks like he’s got everything under control.”
She hooked an arm through Dragonfly’s elbow and tugged her toward the house. “You look gorgeous, by the way. I would have worn a dress, but you somehow pull that off. Very... breezy.”
Dragonfly didn’t answer, just let herself be pulled. The cabin smelled of roasted spices and warm bread. The table was covered—platters, bowls, folded linens.
“Why is there so much food?” she asked. “How many people did you invite?”
Hadria gave a smug little shrug. “Not that many. Helen and Nic, Uriah, River, the twins... and Lekyi was invited, though he’s working.”
Dragonfly blinked. “That’s not a few people.”
“Small enough.” Hadria grinned like a queen who’d just set the banquet herself.
Then her voice dropped. She darted a glance toward the window.
“Collin’s been buzzing about this all day.
Did you know he planned half the menu himself?
I’m serious, he’s glowing. And he’s going to ask you for an outing—on the lake.
When he does, you have to say yes. And don’t be all coy about it either. You have to mean it.”
Dragonfly’s gaze slid toward the window but stopped short of resting on Collin. “Is he really?” Her voice came out small. “I mean—of course I’ll say yes. But... I’m not sure I’m ready for this to be more than just a little outing.”
“You have to say yes,” Hadria repeated, suddenly urgent. “You’ll break his heart if you don’t.”
Dragonfly bit her lip. “I just—I don’t want to lead him on.”
“You won’t.”
“But what if...” Her voice had gone quieter, like it barely belonged to her. “I couldn’t stand to hurt him.”
Hadria groaned and crossed her arms. “God, you really don’t see it, do you? Collin’s been in love with you forever.”
Had he really? She hadn’t thought of it that way—not until recently, not until the way his voice felt on her skin or the way her heart jumped at his touch. But those were new sensations. Too bright and too confusing.
Her heart skipped painfully. “No. He—he likes me a little, maybe, but love? That can’t be right.”
“Are you joking?” Hadria’s eyes flared wide. “He talks about you constantly. He rearranges plans just to be near you. He lights up when you’re around. Everyone sees it—except, apparently, you.”
Dragonfly pressed her palm to her cheek. Her face felt too hot. “I mean... he said something about kissing me once. But I thought that was just because of the panther thing. He was shaken. It didn’t mean—”
“No,” Hadria said, gently now. “It wasn’t about the panther. He’s always looked at you like that. Aries says he’s been like this for years.”
Dragonfly’s stomach clenched. She looked out the window again. Collin was scrubbing the wire grate with a rag, humming something under his breath. He looked content, relaxed. Unknowing.
She hadn’t meant to encourage him. She just wanted to be there, to comfort him in grief, to share time. Maybe part of her had liked the attention, liked the way he made her feel—but she hadn’t planned for anything beyond that.
“I don’t think this dinner was a good idea,” she whispered. “Please... don’t encourage him tonight. I—I don’t know what this is. I don’t want him thinking it’s something more than it is.”
Hadria’s brows pulled together. “But what if it is something more? What if this is the start of something really—"
“No,” Dragonfly said. “It’s just a crush. If he asks me out, I’ll go. Once. But that’s all it can be.”
Hadria opened her mouth, but Dragonfly lifted a hand. “Please. I can’t talk about this anymore. Not tonight.”
Silence hung between them. And then, “Where did you send Aries off to?”
Hadria sighed. “Aries is out checking traps. He should be back soon.” She pulled her frilly pinafore over her head, shaking out her dark curls. “Do you like my dress? Remember my old nurse? She snuck it out of the White Villa for me. Brought a few of my favorite trinkets too.”
Dragonfly nodded, trying to summon more enthusiasm than she felt. The dress was stunning—deep emerald silk that shimmered like beetle wings when Hadria moved, the beaded bodice catching the light and matching her eyes exactly.
“It’s lovely,” she said, almost managing a smile. “Too bad you can’t wear it out. If the steward saw you, your nurse might get in trouble.”
“I know. But I’m just glad to have it back.” Hadria’s voice softened. “Come—I’ll show you what else she saved.”
Dragonfly followed her into Aries’s bedroom. Hadria dropped to her knees beside the dresser and tugged open the bottom drawer. From beneath a stack of folded shirts, she pulled out a small leather pouch, the drawstring already fraying. She emptied it onto the bed in a glittering pile.
“Look,” she said, sifting through the trinkets until she found what she was after—a delicate gold bracelet, barely larger than a thumb ring. “I wore this when I was a baby.”
The chain was so fine it looked like it might vanish in sunlight. A tiny charm hung from it, swinging lightly between Hadria’s fingers.
“So pretty,” Dragonfly said quietly, running her thumb along the edge. “You must be happy to have it back.”
“I am,” Hadria said, though her voice dipped. “But I really wanted my mother’s gold ring. My nurse couldn’t find it. She said it wasn’t where she remembered, and she couldn’t risk searching too long.”
Dragonfly glanced at the bracelet again, but her mind was elsewhere.
Her heart still hadn’t settled. Hadria’s glittering childhood heirlooms felt like a story from another life—a memory beautiful and untouchable.
She forced herself to stay present, but her gaze drifted toward the doorway, her thoughts already tugging back to the fire pit.
Voices echoed from the front room—lively, overlapping, full of motion. Hadria swept her treasures off the bed with a practiced hand. “You’d better go greet your guests. I’ll put these away and be out in a minute.”
Dragonfly stepped into the hallway, her pulse quickening with the shift in energy.
Nic stood in the sitting room, dressed sharply in a crisp linen shirt and dark grey waistcoat, a bouquet of wild white roses in one hand and his other arm slung casually around Helen’s waist. Helen wore a light cream dress cinched with a pale pink sash, her ribbon-matched hair swept up loosely.
The two of them looked like a painting—golden and self-assured and perfectly in sync.
Dragonfly forced her smile wide as Helen embraced her warmly.
“I’m glad to see you both,” she said, meaning it, even if her nerves hummed beneath the surface.
“Uriah and River send their best,” Nic said, handing over the flowers. “Uriah’s grounded again, and River’s stuck at the hospital. And these”—he wiggled the bouquet for emphasis—“are for you. Happy birthday.”
The white roses were simple but lovely, tied with a ribbon that shimmered faintly in the light. “They’re beautiful,” she said. “Thank you.”
And it was true—Nic and Helen’s bright energy, their easy affection—it filled the house quickly, pushing out the heaviness in her chest.
A few minutes later, Aries came tromping through the yard, and Nic made his escape outside to join him.
Dragonfly sat with the girls in the front room, sipping tea and nibbling on the sweets Hadria had prepared.
Their conversation drifted easily between gardens and dance classes, the soft murmur of their voices blending with the rattle of silverware and clinking glasses.
But through the window, the world outside was a different rhythm entirely.
The boys were shouting, laughing, leaping like dogs after birds.
Collin stood by the fire pit, flipping fish on the grill with one hand while swinging the iron poker in the other, laughing at something Nic had said.
Aries plucked feathers from a half-dressed pheasant, and beside it on the butchering slab lay a plump rabbit waiting its turn.
When Nic rolled up his sleeves and headed for the butcher’s block with a knife in hand, Helen bolted out of her chair.
“Nic!” she shouted, nearly halfway out the window, bracing herself on the sill. “Don’t you dare ruin that shirt!”
He paused mid-step, looking down at himself, then at the rabbit. His friends jeered in the background, and for a heartbeat it wasn’t clear which way he’d go—pride or self-preservation.
Hadria, barely hiding her grin, waved the frilly apron in his direction.
Nic stood frozen just long enough to make a show of it. Then, with great melodrama, he stomped to the window and let Helen pull the apron over his head, turning so she could tie the back.
When he spun to face her again, his grin was roguish. “You’re going to owe me for this, Helen,” he said, and planted a kiss on her that made even Hadria blush.
Helen settled back into her chair, cheeks flushed, pretending not to smile.