Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Thaddeus
The tavern is alive with the chaos of the holiday rush—orders flying in faster than I can pour a drink, laughter rising above the jingle of sleighbells outside. My hooves barely touch the floor before I’m pivoting to grab another tray of cider. Then, out of nowhere, Soli appears at my side, her scarf wrapped snugly around her neck, the thick fabric barely containing her dark hair that spills out in soft waves. Her bulky winter hat, crowned with an endearing pom-pom, contrasts sharply with her otherwise elegant poise. She moves with a kind of natural grace that belies the chaos surrounding us, her stature straight and composed, even in the midst of the holiday rush. It’s hard not to admire the way she carries herself—calm, capable, and quietly striking.
“Need a hand?” she asks, already tying an apron around her waist. Before I can protest, she’s weaving through the crowd with the kind of ease that leaves me staring.
It’s mesmerizing, really—how quickly she assesses the situation and jumps in without hesitation. Within minutes, the chaos feels manageable, her calm efficiency settling over the room like fresh snow. She even manages to charm Old Fergus, a towering minotaur with a perpetually furrowed brow and a coat as shaggy as the snowdrifts outside, grumbles from his usual corner of the tavern. His horns, chipped from years of wear and tear, curl in a way that gives him an air of eternal disapproval. Known for his gruff demeanor and a penchant for complaining about his cider never being refilled fast enough, Fergus is a fixture here—one of those characters you can’t help but secretly love despite his prickly exterior, who’s notoriously grumpy about his cider refills.
As the afternoon rush finally peters out, the din of clinking mugs and laughter gives way to a welcome calm. I sink onto a stool, letting out a sigh of relief as I wipe my brow. Soli collapses into the seat across from me, her cheeks flushed from the warmth of the fire and the whirlwind of activity.
“Does it ever really die down here?” she asks, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. There’s a hint of curiosity in her tone, and it pulls a grin from me.
“Honestly? I’ve never thought about it,” I admit, leaning back. “Avalon Vale has its rhythms. Busy one minute, quiet the next. Like life, I guess. You can’t really plan it all out. Sometimes, you just have to take a moment when it comes.”
“Like now?” she teases, a small smile tugging at her lips.
“Exactly,” I say, grabbing a pair of mugs and filling them with cider. I set one in front of her, the spicy aroma curling between us. “Speaking of moments, that’s how this cider came about.”
“Happy accident?” she guesses, wrapping her hands around the mug.
“Something like that,” I say, chuckling. “I was experimenting with local ingredients a few years back. Threw in some enchanted honey, a bit of cinnamon bark from the forest, and… well, let’s just say the first batch almost exploded. But once I got it right, it became a hit.”
Soli lifts her mug, her smile warming. “To happy accidents,” she says, her voice soft but steady.
“To taking moments when they come,” I reply, clinking my mug gently against hers. As we sip in the quiet tavern, a sense of ease settles over me, like the world outside has paused just for us.
“You’re a lifesaver,” I tell her, meaning every word. “How’d you manage all that so effortlessly?”
She shrugs, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Years of wrangling busy holiday gatherings with my dad. He loved this time of year—always made it a big production. You think this is chaotic?” She gestures lightly around the tavern. “At least no one here is challenging folks to karaoke.”
The corner of my mouth twitches, and I can’t help but chuckle. “Karaoke? Sounds like a serious competition.”
“You have no idea,” she says, her smile widening slightly. “My cousins would turn it into an all-night event. Someone would always bring the microphone, and before you knew it, half the family was belting out power ballads while the other half argued over who got to go next. It was loud, chaotic… but it was home.”
Her voice softens, and I catch the shadow that crosses her face. “It’s quieter now,” she adds after a moment, her gaze dropping to the steaming mug in her hands. “Too quiet.”
“Your dad sounds like someone worth celebrating,” I say gently.
She nods, her eyes glistening. “He was. This is the first holiday without him. I thought being here might help, but…” She trails off, the weight of her grief palpable.
I feel something tighten in my chest, an ache that mirrors hers. “Grief has a way of sneaking up on you,” I say. “But sometimes, it helps to share it. Makes the weight a little lighter.”
She meets my gaze, and for a moment, the air between us feels charged with an understanding that needs no words. “Maybe,” she says quietly, her smile small but real. The rest of the night passes in a blur of laughter and shared effort, but moments with Soli linger in sharp focus. Every gesture, every quiet smile, every flicker of emotion on her face is etched into my memory. Life, fleeting as it is, feels richer with her in it—like she makes the chaos worth slowing down to savor.