Chapter Twenty #2
The words feel important to him, weighted, and I know well the fear that comes with rushing to explain.
“Take your time,” I say.
Instead of replying, he undoes his top button. Then another. I notice he’s trembling.
“Allow me,” I whisper right against the earrings that decorate his ear. The ones that saved our lives. I undo one more button and check his expression.
“Please. Go on.”
It’s a request. A plea. Please.
I open the rest of his shirt slowly, carefully, giving him plenty of time to stop me if he wants to.
All the while, he skims his eyes across my face.
He’s worried. Nervous. And when the shirt parts, I understand more.
The first thing that springs to mind is the bouquet I made a few months ago: pastel blue morning glory for future happiness, white edelweiss for courage, and an eye-catching singular protea in full bloom, with triangular pink petals surrounding a bulbous white center, that carries the meaning of transformation.
It wasn’t the first time I’d made a bouquet of that kind for customers who wished to celebrate the change in someone’s identity, but this time, when I delivered the flowers, I could hear the momentous party from the far end of the street.
Over the strumming of the live band, the recipient of the bouquet had thanked me for their first gift addressed to their new chosen name and then asked for the name of the tailor who made the dress I was wearing.
I remember thinking that I’d never seen that neighbor smile so widely before.
I glance up at Will with a question. May I?
He nods.
I trail a fingertip down the middle of his chest, passing two horizontal surgery scars that curve toward his armpits.
The lines have faded to a soft pink and don’t look raised.
I’ve only read up on herbal flower-based medicine so I can’t know for sure, but I’m guessing that the procedure wasn’t recent.
Perhaps it was done around the age I saw in the memories.
Will clears his throat.
“Magic can do a lot but…I chose to get the tissue removed when I was fifteen,” he says.
“Perks of having a healer as a mum is access to all the transitioning treatments I want—and the Library has a ton of experts in identity-affirming care too. My parents supported every choice I wanted to make pretty early on. They didn’t mind adjusting to having a son instead, so… ”
“It makes no difference to me either.” I fell for him as he is, and although he’s rare and exceptional in my eyes, the procedures he’s talking about aren’t unheard of in Calla. My tongue trips over the question I want to ask. “Do…do they hurt? The scars?”
“No. Mum made some really good moisturizing balms at the start that helped them heal well. It’s been so long, sometimes I even forget they’re there.
” He ropes a hand in my hair. There’s a vulnerable pinch between his eyebrows, but he has nothing to doubt.
“Fliss…Being with me…I don’t know what expectations you had, or… ”
“You’re Will,” I say. “Nothing changes that. And it doesn’t change how I feel about you. Although some more questions might come to me later on. I want to make sure I understand fully, when—or if—you feel up to it.”
“Yeah, of course. I mean—” He grins, his nerves swept away. It’s been so long since I’ve seen that smirk that I almost keel over and off the desk. “I’m sure it’s hard to believe that I haven’t always been a devilishly confident and handsome guy.”
I snort. “Didn’t Anhora say you used to be ‘shy’ in Mithian?”
“You’re remembering wrong. She said nothing of the sort.”
I inch my mouth toward him again. “Hmm…is that so?”
“Well, if you need convincing…”
This time, when he kisses me, it’s cautious, conscious, as if every tiny movement means the world.
His touch sweeps over my lower back, my waist, my hips, my thighs, then up my jaw, into my hair, deliberately, unhurriedly, like he’s intricately memorizing the way I feel, noting each quiver down my spine.
I do similarly and I relish every second of it.
I’ve been so obsessed with those hands, but this is better than any wishful daydreams.
After some time, Will chuckles against my mouth.
“This is not how I imagined this day would go,” he says, red to the very tips of his ears. It’s adorable.
“I hope it’s turned out for the better,” I say, and curl a lock of his hair around my finger, letting it unravel lazily.
“Oh, certainly,” he says. His laugh turns into a soft sigh. “You’ve been on my mind since you stubbornly—and stupidly—marched into the wards and knocked yourself out. It was those flowers in your hair and your cute, frowny expression.”
“Frowny?”
“Yeah, you have a tough little scowl. Your eyes get all narrow and you pull your chin up. Ah, just like that.” He beams at my reaction.
“It’s so at odds with the way you dress; it threw me off guard from the start.
I didn’t realize someone so short could cause me so much trouble. You’re a persistent little wildflower.”
“Stop teasing me!”
“I’m not! These are compliments!”
“Stubborn and stupid?”
“I’m trying to tell you the truth!”
“Well, I don’t think you’re doing a very good job of it.”
“Perhaps I need a teacher. Know anyone?”
“You’re—” The worst.
A sentence I can’t say.
I glower and his laugh is a cherished prize.
“Cute,” Will says, and kisses the tip of my nose.
“It’s your own fault for being so gentle with me when you healed my ankle.”
He raises an eyebrow. I should have known he’d revel in hearing that, but it’s still a surprise when he suddenly wrenches me close and hovers his hot breath over my neck. I cling to his shirt, unable to contain my squeal.
“Oh? I’ll be rougher next time, shall I?”
Gods—
I’m dazed. Flushed. A complete mess.
“How would you like me to atone?” he whispers against my skin. He presses his lips to my throat in an achingly slow kiss that has me struggling to find air. “I’m completely at your mercy, Princess.”
I don’t speak.
I grab his jaw and kiss him.
I wrap myself up in him and soak up the taste of his tongue, the quiver of his eyelids, the hammering of our pulses under exploring hands.
His earlier openness and vulnerability about his transition—his trust in me—makes me cherish each moment.
I lose myself completely in the spell of him.
It’s enchanting. He’s enchanting. Truly a sorcerer at work.
It’s fully dark outside when the front door opens and both of us jump. Ruth closes the door with a slam at odds with her usual care. Will straightens up in panic.
“Don’t mind me, your very blind mother who can’t possibly see what’s occurring in my workshop right now,” she announces, louder than she needs to. The smug smile on her face tells me otherwise.
I snigger as Ruth drops her basket near the front door, then takes off her coat and hooks it on the wall. Will’s heart pounds under my palm. She’s making her way up the stairs when she pauses, hand on the rail.
“Willoh, when you have a minute, do pick up my fresh rosemary from the floor. If you’re not too busy.”
He chokes. Ruth grins my way before leaving us alone. Will’s head falls to my shoulder.
“She’s going to be a nightmare,” he says, muffled. I pat his curls.
“I’m sure I can think of a way or two to make it better.”
His head shoots up, and he cocks an eyebrow.
“Oh, yeah?”
I move my mouth toward his as if I’m going to kiss him.
“Gotta pick up those herbs first.”
Will narrows his eyes, then grins—that stupid, beautiful one that messes me up every time.
“I’ll hold you to that.”
Honestly, he can hold me any way he likes.