Chapter 23 Fleur
The tavern welcomes me with hints of cinnamon and smoke. The kind of warmth that lingers in the bones of a place after it’s been filled with something good.
Winnie hums softly from the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, elbow-deep in dough for something she insists isn’t bread but smells like it wants to be.
It feels like it’s been forever since the full moon arrived earlier than usual, despite it only being two weeks ago. The tavern reopened after repairs yesterday, but we’re closed today.
It is finally the first day of Yule, after all.
She told me to sit.
So I do—curled near the hearth, legs tucked beneath me, Jinx stretched along my side like a living bolster. He’s heavier than he looks, all smug weight and purring satisfaction, as though he knew I’d come back before I did.
My eyes drift shut for a breath too long. The kind of breath that tilts toward sleep.
“Hey,” Winnie says softly from the doorway. “You fading on me?”
“Maybe.” I crack one eye open. “You’re the one who told me to rest.”
“I didn’t mean hibernate.”
I smile, and she grins back like she can’t help it. She crosses the room and sinks down beside me, her body still smelling faintly of flour and cloves.
She presses her cold nose against my cheek just to make me flinch. I do, and she laughs—low and quiet, the kind of laugh meant only for me.
“Your hands are warm,” she says, sliding her fingers between mine.
“That’s because I’ve been doing absolutely nothing.”
“You’re excellent at it.”
We sit like that for a while, curled into the hush of the tavern, the fire’s glow casting soft gold across the floorboards.
Outside, snow falls slow and steady, painting the world in stillness.
It’s the kind of December morning that feels like it exists out of time—no errands, no expectations.
Just the breath between before and after.
Winnie leans her head on my shoulder. “I thought maybe, after breakfast, we could light the blessing candle. The one you made.”
“Even though it’s crooked?”
“Especially because it’s crooked.”
I snort softly, and she squeezes my hand.
“I was also thinking,” she adds, voice softer now, “we could write down wishes for the new year. Not spells. Just…hopes. And burn them after sundown.”
“I like that.”
Jinx stretches and lets out a single chirping meow before rearranging himself against my thigh. We ignore him.
The tavern smells richer now—spiced and golden. A sign that whatever Winnie was baking is nearly done.
I’ve never been good at this part.
The after.
The peace.
I’ve spent so much of my life bracing for the storm, for the unraveling, for the thing that always comes to take it all away. I’ve made rituals out of endings. Learned how to leave before I’m left.
But right now…
There’s no storm coming.
No spell demanding to be finished.
Just the crackle of the hearth, the softness of the snow, and the woman beside me who chose to wait for me.
And gods, I’m still not used to that.
Not the choosing. Not the staying. Not the quiet contentment that wraps around me like a balm instead of a warning.
This time, the magic isn’t in the saving.
It’s in the stillness.
In the breath.
In the warmth of her shoulder against mine.
In the way she leans in again, her lips brushing my temple as she whispers, “Happy Yule, Fleur.”
I turn my face to hers.
My pulse doesn’t spike; my body doesn’t flinch.
I just meet her gaze, and for once, I let it all in.
“Happy Yule, Winnie.”