Chapter Twenty-Three #2
“You seem happier,” Rodrick observes, drawing my attention back to him. “Different. What’s changed?”
“Well,” I blink, “I moved to Fate’s Fortune.”
“The town obsessed with love?” His brows rise. “Makes sense how you ended up in the Festival then.”
I look around, eyes passing over dozens of people who didn’t sign up for the Festival and yet were here doing the Moirai’s bidding, nonetheless. I blurt out the question that first comes to mind without thought for how it would sound. “How’d you get here anyway?”
“Get this,” his eyes twinkle like he was waiting for me to ask, “I was trekking through the Faeling Alps when a handler of Fate stepped out of a snowstorm like he’d been there the whole time.
” Rodrick swirls his champagne. “‘The Moirai request your attendance regarding an unresolved matter of the heart and a former beloved,’ he’d said. ”
“Request?” I repeat skeptically.
Rodrick smiles. “I got the distinct impression it wasn’t a suggestion.”
“So, could you have refused?”
“Probably.” He takes a sip of champagne. “Didn’t feel like finding out what happens when you tell the witches who weave destiny to sod off.”
I snort. “Fair enough.”
“So how’d you get here?” He cocks his head. “Didn’t you swear you’d never leave your village?”
“I also used to think shadow fae were terrifying.” I pause, lips curving around my teacup. “Now, I mostly think they're annoying,” I reply with a laugh. “People change.”
His smile softens. “Seems like it’s been good for you.”
Images flash through my mind before I can stop them: sticky tavern floors and laughter after midnight, stolen pastries in the kitchen, Riven slouched behind the Foxhole’s bar with his sleeves rolled up, arguing passionately about the proper amount of citrus in an old fashioned.
Him carrying heavy crates because he noticed I’d been rubbing my shoulder.
Him saving the last cinnamon bun because he knows they’re my favorite.
Him sprawled across the apartment floor above the tavern, talking about absolutely nothing until the sky began to lighten outside the windows.
“Yeah,” I say quietly, “it really has.”
Rodrick follows my gaze when it drifts away again.
Toward Riven.
Toward Angora.
Toward the familiar golden head bent close enough to another woman that my chest aches.
“Your match seems nice,” Rodrick says casually.
I turn back too quickly. “He is.”
Rodrick lifts both hands in surrender. “Relax. I was being sincere.”
Heat creeps into my cheeks.
“I wasn’t—”
“Poppy.” His voice gentles. “It’s okay.”
For a moment, neither of us speaks.
Then Rodrick traces the rim of his glass thoughtfully.
“You know,” he says, “I think, when we were younger, I spent so much time trying to be interesting that I forgot to be interested.” I stare at him.
The old Rodrick never would’ve admitted that.
“I wasn’t very good at seeing people,” he continues with a small shrug.
“I mostly saw what they could mean for my story.”
I don't know what to do with the unexpected honesty sitting between us.
Because he’s right.
The boy I loved had been possibility wrapped in excitement and promises. Adventure. Escape. The future I’d imagined for myself. Sitting across from the man he's become, I realize something terrifying.
I don’t miss him.
Not really.
I miss the version of myself who thought love would be easy.
Across the terrace, Angora laughs again and touches Riven's arm.
The sight hits me like a blade slipped carefully between my ribs.
Rodrick notices my attention wandering and asks softly, “Are you happy?”
The answer rises immediately.
I think of home above the Foxhole. Of shadows carrying boxes up impossible staircases. Of peppermint tea and terrible jokes and the certainty that if everything in my world fell apart, Riven would stand beside me while I rebuilt it.
I think of the fact that I never have to earn his attention.
He’s simply there.
Steady.
Choosing me in all the little ways that matter.
My best friend.
“Yeah,” I whisper, surprising myself with how true it feels. “I think I am.”
Rodrick smiles then. Warm and genuine and free of regret. “I used to think leaving was the biggest mistake of my life,” he admits.
“Really?” My brows rocket up. “And now?”
“Now, I think it got us exactly where we needed to be.” He raises his champagne flute to me.
“Looks like we turned out alright after all.” I clink my glass gently against his and rest my cheek against my palm as he tells me stories of his travels.
Old Poppy would've heard stories of distant cities and wondered what could've been.
Now, I just listen politely. I laugh when Rodrick says something funny.
Time has changed him. Made him kinder. Better.
But every few minutes, my eyes drift across the dining hall. At a shadow fae who isn't even looking at me. And every time they do, my chest tightens and my heart betrays me. Because unlike Riven, sitting across from my past, I know exactly what I want.
I don’t want the one who left.
I want the one who stayed.
The one who, despite what I once thought, made sure I was never truly alone in this life.
And wanting him this much…that terrifies me.