One Year Later
POPPY
The Foxhole, warm and golden-lit as always, is lively as ever.
I wipe the counters like I’ve done a thousand times and wink at the little wooden fox I made Riven so many solstices ago that now lives on the shelf behind the bar.
Through the front bay window, I can see the sign we put out this morning: Festival Match Night — Hosted by the Moirai.
After our deception and less-than-typical match season last year, Riven and I have been encouraged to support the Moirai in their endeavors to make every Festival as magical as ours. Starting by hosting the newly matched couples at our bar tonight.
The lanterns strung across the wide wooden beams flicker when I walk by, responding to the magic that created them.
I move past the new couples. Some clink glasses in camaraderie, while others whisper over low humming music…and I’m pretty sure the couple in the corner is already fighting. The bar hums with the sound of beginnings, and love is in the air. It’s truly match season again.
Riven weaves through the crowd, all swagger and ease, and my heart picks up a little. No matter how many times I see him, I never seem to get over it.
Our hands brush in passing, and his familiar scent grounds me. Just a few more hours and we can be home, relaxing and forgetting the Moirai are holding our past missteps as leverage to get little favors.
A new group of couples enters, and I can sense their nervous energy.
I pause, watching them, and when Riven settles in beside me, I thoughtfully ask, “Do you think they trust that Fate knows what it’s doing this time?”
Riven steps behind me and presses a kiss to my temple.
“Doubt it.” His voice is low and amused. “But if they let it,” he glances at me, “it’ll be the best thing that ever happened to them.”
I nestle into him without thinking, ease and certainty replacing what used to be hesitance and fear.
“Well, back to work.” He passes behind me and smacks my ass lightly.
“Riven!” My whisper is scandalized but completely erased by the smile I can’t help. “I’ve seen you threaten men for that in this very bar.”
“Yeah, well,” he turns, face smug and smirking as ever. He moves into my space. “Because they were touching something that belongs to me.”
“You mistake access for ownership,” I say forcefully, trying to match his wit.
He freezes for half a second, his smile turning slow and predacious.
“Fair play, Pop.” His gaze drags over me, deliberate.
“Though if you don’t drop that attitude, I’m going to haul you to the back room and make it very hard for you to keep it up.
” I swallow, core heating. “It’ll be hard to sass me when your mouth is filled with my co-” I slap a hand over his mouth, and I can feel his lips curling into a wide smile beneath it.
His shadows peel my hand back, and he backs away slowly with a wink.
“Save it for later.” He snaps his teeth in a playful bite. “Got it.”
He moves past our wedding portrait, which sits slightly crooked above the mantle.
We’re close in it, arguably too close for something meant to be proper.
In it, I’m mid-laugh, eyes half-lidded, like I forgot anyone else existed in that moment.
Riven is watching me, not even trying to hide it, smiling in a way that’s softer than usual.
It wasn’t posed for, and it just looks like we leaned in during a joke and just…
stayed there. In moody hues and a slightly secretive, sexy vibe, we thought it was fitting for the side room of the Foxhole, where expensive liquor and secrets are traded.
The Moirai enter the bar, and every newly-matched couple rises as instructed. I slip behind the bar out of habit more than thought, and Riven’s hand finds mine.
Like it always does.