Chapter 1 #2
Feydin appeared then, sliding an arm around Dazy’s waist. He looked at me with those stone-gray eyes that could be intimidating but right now just looked grateful.
“We’ll see you in a few weeks,” he said.
Before I could respond, he scooped Dazy into his arms and spread his wings. The crowd cheered as he launched into the air, flower petals scattering in the breeze. I caught a glimpse of Dazy’s white dress trailing behind them before they disappeared into the darkness.
They’d spend one night in the city before catching a plane to somewhere tropical. Feydin had been mysterious about the exact location, but the way he’d smiled when he mentioned beaches and sunshine had made Dazy glow.
The crowd slowly left, everyone heading to their cars or taking the sidewalk toward town in waves. Soon it was just the manor again, lit up and quiet, with remnants of the celebration scattered across the ballroom.
Me, Gavrel, and Corey had been left to deal with tidying, but I’d known that all along. A crew would come in tomorrow for a full cleanup, but we’d do the basics tonight.
“I can help,” Corey called out, grabbing a stack of plates that wobbled dangerously in his hands.
“Careful, baby.” I steadied the stack and redirected him to the napkins instead. “Let’s start with something that won’t break.”
Gavrel had already begun collecting glasses, his movements precise. “I’ll be moving my belongings from the carriage house to the manor,” he said. “To better oversee the gardens while Feydin and Dazy are away.”
To oversee the gardens. Not to help. To oversee.
“Right,” I said, keeping my voice even. “Dazy mentioned you’d be staying around while they’re gone.”
“It seems practical. The carriage house is adequate, but being in the manor will allow me to monitor the estate more thoroughly.”
Monitor. Oversee. I’d been here six months, had been running the café successfully, had helped Dazy with every aspect of the gardens’ operations. Gavrel had arrived yesterday and was already talking like he was in charge.
“We’re staying here too,” Corey piped up, oblivious to my irritation. “Mom and I have rooms upstairs. It’s like a castle. Are you going to be our roommate?”
Gavrel’s expression softened a touch. “I suppose I am, in a way.”
“That’s so sick.”
He frowned. “Sick?”
“Yeah, sick.”
“It means cool,” I said.
“Oh, yes, of course.”
Do you have stuff? I can help you move your stuff. I’m really strong.” Corey flexed his scrawny arms.
“I appreciate the offer.” That precise voice again, but aimed at Corey made it sound less condescending. Almost warm. “I only have a few boxes. They shouldn’t be too difficult to manage.”
We worked in awkward silence for a while, me and Gavrel moving around each other in the ballroom, Corey chattering about the wedding and the cake and how sick it had been to see Feydin fly.
The cleanup felt endless. Tables to clear, decorations to pack away, and things to put in the manor’s refrigerator to donate to the shelter in town in the morning.
The weight of the next two weeks settled on my shoulders.
Running the café was one thing. I could do that in my sleep. But managing the entire botanical garden operation with Gavrel watching, probably judging, and definitely planning to “oversee” was something else entirely.
“Mom, I’m thirsty,” Corey said, abandoning his napkin collection duty.
“Kitchen’s that way.” I pointed. “You know where the cups are.”
He took off at a run, his shoes clattering on the hardwood.
“Corey, walk.”
“Okay.” He slowed to what might generously be called a fast walk.
Gavrel watched him go with his lips curling up slightly. “He has a lot of energy.”
“That’s one word for it.” I stacked another set of plates. “He’ll crash hard later. The excitement always catches up with him.”
“Managing everything alone must be difficult.”
I searched for judgment in his face, but his expression remained neutral, maybe even sympathetic.
“We do fine,” I said.
“I didn’t mean to suggest otherwise.” He carefully placed the glasses he’d collected into their sleeves in the box. “I only meant that you carry a lot of responsibility.”
Before I could figure out how to respond to that, Corey’s voice rang out from the direction of the kitchen.
“Mom! Mom, I—”
The crash that followed made my heart jump into my throat.
I ran.
The kitchen was a disaster. Corey stood in the middle of broken glass and spilled punch, his face crumpling, tears already starting to spill down his cheeks.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I was just trying to reach the cups, and I knocked over the—I didn’t mean to—”
“Are you hurt?” I crouched beside him, scanning for cuts or blood.
“No, but I broke the bowl, and there’s punch everywhere, and—”
“Hey. Hey, it’s okay.” I pulled him close, feeling him shake with the effort of holding back sobs. “Accidents happen. You’re not hurt, that’s what matters.”
“But I made a mess.”
“We’ll clean it up. No big deal.”
Gavrel appeared in the doorway, taking in the scene. I waited for him to say something about being careful, the value of the glassware, or mention how this was exactly why kids shouldn’t be handling things unsupervised.
Instead, he crossed the kitchen and crouched down beside us, his wings folded tight against his back to fit in the space.
“Corey,” he said, his voice gentle. Softer than I’d heard it all day. “Can I tell you a secret?”
Corey sniffled and nodded.
“When I was perhaps a year or two older than you, I broke one of my mother’s favorite sculptures. It was stone, very old and very precious. I was attempting to examine the craftsmanship and dropped it.” He paused. “I thought she would be very angry.”
“Was she?” Corey’s voice sounded so small and fragile.
“She was sad about the sculpture. But she told me that objects can be replaced. That what mattered was that I was safe and that I learned to be more careful.” He glanced at the broken glass. “This punch bowl can be replaced. You cannot. Your mother’s right. You’re what matters.”
Corey stared at him with wide eyes, then looked up at me. “I’ll be more careful.”
“I know you will, baby.” I kissed his forehead. “Why don’t you go change out of your suit? I’ll clean this up.”
“I can help—”
“You can help by not stepping in glass with your good shoes on. Go. I’ve got this.”
He hesitated, then darted out of the kitchen, careful to skirt the spill.
I stood, reaching for the paper towels, and found Gavrel already moving toward the closet where the cleaning supplies were kept. He pulled out the broom and began sweeping the glass into a careful pile.
“You don’t have to—”
“It’s no trouble.” He glanced at me. “You’ve had a long day. Let me help.”
I grabbed the mop and bucket, still processing what I’d witnessed. His gentleness with Corey. His patience. The story about his mother. None of this matched the formal, distant gargoyle I’d pegged Gavrel as.
We cleaned, working around each other with more coordination than we’d managed in the ballroom.
When the kitchen was finally spotless again, I leaned against the counter and let out a long breath. “Thanks for being kind with Corey.”
Gavrel emptied the dustpan into the trash. “He’s a good child. Curious. It wasn’t his fault.”
“He loves learning about things. Especially animals and dinosaurs right now. Last week it was outer space. Next week it’ll probably be something else.”
“The best way to learn is through exploring his world.” He met my eyes. “I imagine he keeps you busy.”
“You have no idea.”
A smile tugged at his mouth, barely there, but real. “I might have some idea. Feydin says I was an insufferable child, always asking why, why, why.”
The image of a young Gavrel pestering his older brother with endless questions made my tension loosen.
We finished the cleanup together, Gavrel offering quiet suggestions about where things should go that I mostly accepted because he was right and I was too tired to argue. By the time we’d packed away the last of the decorations, exhaustion was pulling at my edges.
Corey appeared in his pajamas, his hair still damp from the shower. “Can I show Gavrel my dinosaur book?”
“Corey, it’s late—”
“Just for a few minutes?” He looked at Gavrel hopefully. “It has all the newest discoveries and everything. There’s a whole section on feathered dinosaurs.”
I waited for Gavrel to make an excuse or escape to his room and his unpacking.
Instead, he nodded. “I’d like to see this book. Perhaps you can teach me something new.” His gaze shot to mine. “That time when I was the boy asking why all the time led to…” He shook his head.
“Led to what?”
“Nothing.” He released a sigh.
They settled in the living room, Corey placing his big dinosaur encyclopedia on the coffee table and launching into an explanation of the difference between the Jurassic and Cretaceous periods.
Gavrel sat on the couch, his posture less rigid than it had been all day, listening with what looked like true interest.
I watched from the doorway, my arms crossed on my chest, trying to reconcile this version of Gavrel with the one who’d irritated me earlier.
Maybe I’d been too quick to judge.
Or maybe I was seeing what I wanted to because he was being kind to my son.
I didn’t trust my judgment about men. Couldn’t afford to.
“Fascinating,” Gavrel said, and it didn’t sound condescending at all.
Corey yawned, tried to hide it, and failed.
“Alright, paleontologist. Time for bed.” I moved into the room, catching Gavrel’s eye. “Say goodnight.”
“But Mom…”
“Bed. We can talk more about dinosaurs tomorrow.”
“Will you be here tomorrow?” Corey asked Gavrel. “I have other books. And I’m really good at drawing dinosaurs now. I could show you.”
Something flickered across Gavrel’s face. Surprise, maybe. Pleasure, for sure. “I’ll be here. And I’d very much like to see your drawings.”
“Awesome!” Corey snapped the book closed, leaving it on the coffee table. “Goodnight, Gavrel.”
“Bonne nuit, Corey.”
I herded Corey upstairs, got him through the bedtime routine that involved three attempts at “just one more question” before he finally settled. By the time I came back down, Gavrel had moved to the window looking out over the dark gardens.
Gavrel turned. “Corey is remarkable. You’ve done well with him.”
“Thanks. I appreciate you being patient with him.”
“It was no hardship. He’s intelligent and passionate. Those are gifts.” He paused. “I hope I didn’t overstep.”
“Not at all. He doesn’t have a lot of men in his life. It’s mostly been us. So when someone takes the time to really talk to him like that, it means a lot.”
Gavrel nodded, his silver eyes thoughtful. “I understand.”
Did he? Could a sophisticated artist from France who’d probably never struggled to make rent or worried about having enough money for groceries really understand what it was like to be a single parent? To raise a child alone, always wondering if you were doing enough, being enough?
But maybe that was unfair too. Maybe I was still seeing what I expected to see instead of what was actually in front of me.
“I should go,” Gavrel said. “It’s been a long day.”
“Yeah, it has.” I managed a smile. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Sammy.”
He moved past me toward the stairs. His wings brushed against the doorframe as he turned, and I heard him mutter something in French that might have been an apology to the woodwork.
I stood in the living room alone, looking at the dinosaur book on the table, at the spot on the couch where Gavrel had sat listening to my son talk about prehistoric creatures with patience.
I could’ve misjudged him.
Or maybe I hadn’t. Time would tell.
After shutting off the light, I took the stairs to my room.
Whatever Gavrel turned out to be, I wasn’t going to let myself get involved.
I’d learned that lesson already.
Once burned, forever shy.