Chapter 4
The sun was barely up, painting the sky a cool lavender, but Marigold was already buzzing with nervous energy. She felt the tension in her shoulders. Ellie had taken the day off, so she was alone in the cafe today.
She had exactly one hour before opening, so she called Luke to double-check that he was coming by. Her thoughts swirled around the desperate hope that Lucian wouldn’t come this time. She couldn’t handle another round of his cold dismissal.
“Hey Luke,” she said, trying to sound normal when he picked up. “I was just checking if the parts had come in.”
"Got‘em, Goldie-girl,” Luke’s gravelly voice confirmed. “Be there in twenty. Just finishing up breakfast."
“You are a lifesaver,” she sighed. “And my hero!”
Goldie hesitated, taking a deep breath before asking the next question. “Just you coming by?”
There was a brief pause. “As far as I know,” Luke said. “Why?”
“No reason.” She forced a light laugh. “Just making sure I brew enough Steady Tea.”
“One cup’s plenty.”
Relief, sharp and clean, washed over her. Lucian, at least, will not be coming. Twenty minutes. She busied herself getting the cafe ready to open, trying to tamp down the rising anxiety. She walked to the kitchen to brew a cup of tea for Luke.
She took a calm, reassuring breath; she would not need to prepare herself for another fight. She could feel the swell of heartache like a physical blow. As best she could, she released the negativity by breathing in deeply and exhaling.
When he went off to college and never looked back at the life they said they would build, it left her devastated.
For a long time, she had thought he would come back and apologize.
When that fantasy died, so had many others.
Instead of leaving town like she had dreamed of, her dreams changed, and she started working at the cafe.
She put everything she had into her aunt’s cafe.
When Lettie retired, she had bought it and built Enchantresso out of the wreckage of her broken heart and dreams. Soon this place had become her dream; she decided she would not start a family or go to college.
She was going to stay here and make this cafe everything her heart had hoped for.
But when the beat-up old truck pulled up out front, Goldie’s stomach dropped faster than a broken flying spell. Her eyes recognized the familiar faded green of the cab and the distinctive creak of the door. It wasn’t Luke climbing out. It was Lucian.
She sighed, a slow, deep sound of defeat, as she looked down at the cup of Steady Tea in her hands.
Despite brewing it for Luke, she ended up drinking it herself.
She took a deep, satisfying swig. The rich, amber liquid flowed down, its familiar warmth spreading through her chest with each sip, a comforting sensation against the cool air.
Lucian walked in the door chime, which usually was a cheerful sound, that seemed to sound like a death knell on her frayed nerves.
Her heart pounded a familiar, unwelcome rhythm against her ribs.
Taking a deep breath, she inhaled the steam of the green tea—hints of ginger root, lemon balm, a touch of wildflower honey, and a swirl of enchanted mint filling her nose.
It was meant to anchor her, but the potent scent of Lucian—vetiver and a hint of leather—quickly overpowered it, drowning the careful, soothing magic in a wave of unwelcome, primal familiarity.
She bit her lip, the old tic flaring up, as she forced her face into a mask of polite indifference. The game was on, whether she liked it or not. I can act like a professional; I knew he would come back at some time. Just put on a smile and make him a cup of coffee, just like you would anyone else.
Lucian didn’t even look at her. He shouldered past, his large frame making the cafe feel like a cage, and disappeared into the back with the heavy silence of a man who’d already decided she was a ghost. Her skin prickled where the air of his movement brushed against her.
She needed to do something with her hands before they started shaking.
She turned to the counter, her movements robotic.
Nibbles flew around above her, his movements erratic as he sensed the tension in her.
She reached for the dark cocoa, the kind that tasted like a midnight secret, and started the coffee.
Adding a pinch of smoked sea salt to ground the flavor and a generous spoonful of cinnamon ember sugar—magic that was supposed to warm even the coldest resolve. The steam rose, spicy and rich.
Taking a steadying breath, she carried the ceramic mug into the kitchen, where he was hunched over the machine. The tension was a living thing between them, thick as the coffee in her hand, but she was determined not to let that get to her.
“One cup for you,” she said, her voice sounding more fragile than she’d intended. She held it out, trying to force a light, teasing tone. “That’s all you get in this house for free, Lucian.”
For a heartbeat, the mask slipped. Lucian smirked; a flash of the boy she’d once known lighting up his eyes. “One cup is how you got me the first time,” he murmured, the ghost of a shared memory dancing in the air.
A laugh bubbled up in her chest, a reflex born from a thousand happier mornings. But before she could let the sound out, she saw his expression shift. The warmth vanished, replaced by a glacier of cold, hard suspicion. The smirk died, and his golden eyes turned to flint.
Instead of taking the mug, his hand shot out with a violent jerk.
He didn’t just refuse it; he shoved her hands away.
The mug tilted, and the dark, hot liquid erupted from the ceramic, splashing across her fingers and the floor like a spreading stain.
The burning sting caused her to drop the mug as it shattered.
White shards scattered across the brown tiles.
Before she could even gasp, a blur of grey and cream feathers streaked through the kitchen.
Nibbles landed heavily on her shoulder, his sharp talons digging into the thick wool of her sweater.
He puffed his chest out, wings flared wide, and let out a vicious, piercing hiss directed straight at Lucian’s face.
My little protector, she thought. Nibbles was trembling with rage, his amber eyes wide and predatory, warning the male who had just swatted at her hands to stay back.
“Can you not be nice?” She grumbled, reaching for a towel to wipe her stinging hands off.
Lucian let out a short, harsh laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. He looked at her, his posture rigid and unforgiving. “Why would I take any kind of drink from a witch who uses dark magic?”
Goldie clutched the towel in her hand like a lifeline. “I never enchanted you,” she hissed, her voice barely a whisper. “If I had… you would have stayed.”
“You didn’t enchant me?” Lucian scoffed, stepping closer until the air between them was thick with the scent of leather and old wounds. “Then what do you call this, Goldie? A scar that still burns every time my jackal catches your scent.”
Her eyes met his, and she felt the familiar, hot sting of tears welling up.
Fear of the intensity in his gaze, anger at his stubborn refusal to see the truth, and a crushing frustration at the ten years of life they had both lost to a lie—it all crested over her at once.
She couldn’t find the words to dismantle his conviction, not when he was looking at her like she was the villain in his story.
Instead of replying, she dropped the towel on the counter, turned on her heel, and walked to the front of the cafe, leaving him alone in the kitchen with the mess he’d made.