31. 29
29
Thorn
T he first glimmer of dawn hasn’t even kissed the sky yet, and here I am, wide awake as if sleep was last season’s fashion. A tingle of excitement zips through me like a lightning bug in a jar. Today isn’t just any day. It is The Day—the grand opening of our tea shop, a dream Draven and I have been steeping for what feels like forever.
I hop out of bed back in my cottage, my feet barely touching the cool wooden floor as I flit the wardrobe. I slide into an outfit that is basically “me” stitched into clothing—a moss-green tunic, soft as a whisper, and skirt with strategic slits in the layers that let me leap into action if needed. Little swirls of leaves, vines, and flowers are sewn along the hem of the skirt and cuffs of the tunic. And let’s not forget the boots—sturdy, comfortable, and the softest things I’ve ever worn.
“Looking sharp,” I mutter to my reflection, giving myself a cheeky wink before I bolt downstairs where the heart of our home beats—the kitchen.
“Morning, love,” Draven calls, his voice smooth as melted chocolate. There he is, my rock in human form, standing at the stove wearing an apron over his usual attire—a shirt that hugs his muscles just right and trousers that tell tales of adventure.
“Morning,” I chirp back, plopping down at the table as he pours me a cup of tea. The steam dances up to greet me, wrapping me in a warm embrace. “Smells like victory.”
“Or chamomile,” Draven corrects with a chuckle, sliding into the seat opposite me.
“Which is the scent of victory for anyone with sense,” I shoot back, the corners of my mouth betraying my attempt at sternness. We clink cups in a quiet toast to the future.
“All right, boss lady,” Draven says, eyebrow raised in that way that always makes me want to spill my secrets. “Walk me through today’s battle plan one more time. ”
“Simple,” I start, ticking off on my fingers. “We charm their socks off, fill their bellies with the best tea this side of the kingdom, and make them feel at home enough to never want to leave.”
“Charm I can do,” he says with a grin that will undoubtedly have the same effect on our patrons. “But remember the part where they actually have to leave at closing time.”
“Details.” I wave him off, taking another sip of the liquid calm.
We go over the checklist—tea leaves, check; clean cups, check; mystical ambiance, double check.
“Think we’re ready?” I ask, though it is less of a question and more of a nudge for affirmation.
“Thorn,” Draven says, reaching across the table to give my hand a squeeze, “with you, I’m ready for anything.”
His confidence in us is the secret ingredient that makes everything sweeter. I squeeze back, our connection as tangible as the magic that hums in the air around us.
“Then let’s show this city what true magic tastes like,” I declare, standing up with a flourish that almost—but not quite—knocks over my chair .
“Let’s,” he agrees, and together, we stand on the threshold of our shared dream, ready to leap into the unknown with nothing but our wits, our wills, and each other.
As I stack the last of the cups on the shelf, a gentle nudge against my leg draws my attention downward. Luna, with her pristine white fur catching the first light of dawn like a personal sunrise, winds between my ankles in a figure-eight of affection. Her sapphire eyes hold a wisdom that belies her feline form, and I can’t help but smile.
“Morning, Luna,” I greet her, scratching behind her ears in our customary fashion. Luna purrs, a sound as comforting as the tea still warm in our bellies. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”
“Probably forget half the things on that checklist,” Draven chimes in from across the kitchen, his voice warm with humor.
“You’re not wrong,” I admit. “She’s got a better head on her shoulders than both of us combined.”
“Thankfully, one of us does,” Draven agrees, bending down to scoop Luna into his arms. She settles there as though she molds to fit against his chest, a familiar sight that never fails to tug at my heartstrings .
“Looks like someone’s ready for the big day,” I say, reaching out to let Luna bat playfully at my fingers.
“Ready and more than capable,” Draven affirms, planting a soft kiss on Luna’s head. “Isn’t that right?”
“Absolutely,” I say, interpreting Luna’s contented blink as agreement. “Look at her, the epitome of grace under pressure.”
“Unlike some of us,” Draven teases with a pointed look.
“Hey now,” I retort with mock indignation. “I’ll have you know my middle name is ‘Grace.’”
“Only when you’re not knocking over chairs,” he quips, eyes sparkling with mirth.
“Details,” I sniff, rolling my eyes but unable to suppress my own grin. “Shall we?” I gesture toward the door, excitement spiraling within me like a summoned wind.
“Let’s not keep our customers waiting,” Draven replies, setting Luna down so she can lead the way.
We follow in her wake, stepping out into the brisk morning air that promises new beginnings. The streets are just starting to stir as we teleport from my small cottage where it all started to the heart of the capital, the early risers casting curious glances at the shop windows, anticipating the day’s treasures. Our steps echo in unison, a rhythmic dance of anticipation that carries us to the front of our very own tea shop.
“Here we are,” I breathe, a mix of awe and nerves knotting in my chest.
“Home away from home,” Draven concurs, fishing out the keys from his pocket. With a flourish that is all for show, he unlocks the doors and pushes them open.
The scent of tea leaves, rich and varied, waft out to greet us, a welcome as tangible as any embrace. Inside, the tables wait patiently, their surfaces gleaming with care, while the chairs stand at attention, ready for the stories they’ll soon cradle.
“Would you look at that,” I murmur, stepping inside and letting the reality of it all wash over me. The shop is like a dream given form, every detail a testament to our journey.
“Perfect,” Draven says simply, his hand finding mine.
We survey the fruits of our labor. Together, we crafted a haven not just for ourselves, but for a whole community yet to come.
“Couldn’t have done it without Luna’s supervision, though,” I add, glancing back at our furry sentinel who has taken up a regal position by the windowsill, her watchful gaze surveying her kingdom.
“Or each other,” Draven reminds me, his grip tightening ever so slightly.
“Especially each other,” I agree, leaning into him. “Let’s brew some magic, shall we?”
“Let’s,” he echoes.
Side by side, we begin the enchanting symphony of our grand opening. The chime above the door tinkles its merry tune, and like a spell being broken, customers start to trickle in. They come in pairs, in groups, alone with books or with laughter spilling from their lips—each one seeking the sanctuary of our tea shop.
“Welcome,” I greet them, my voice carrying the bright note of opening day enthusiasm. “Find a cozy corner or a window seat. Today, the world is yours.”
Draven, ever the charming host beside me, offers up a menu that has clearly been practiced. “Might I recommend the morningtide blend? It’s a vibrant start to any adventurer’s day.”
“Or for those more nocturnally inclined,” I chime in, winking at a patron who looks like he just stumbled out of a fairytale or a tavern brawl, “our Midnight Melody is a lullaby in a cup.”
Our movements are a dance we rehearsed in dreams, his steps a beat behind mine, creating an effortless cadence. We weave between tables, pour steaming liquid, and exchange smiles as if they are a currency minted by joy itself.
“Your laughter is the best tip,” Draven tells an elderly woman whose giggle reminds me of wind chimes.
“Though coin doesn’t hurt either,” I add, and we share a conspiratorial grin.
When there’s a lull, I lean against the polished counter, taking a moment to really look at our tea shop. The shelves are a library of color holding jars of tea blends meticulously organized, each label penned in Draven’s elegant script. Aromatic promises are sealed behind glass, waiting to be fulfilled. The walls are a gallery of memories—a painting of the very first herb garden I grew, a candid one of Draven caught mid-laugh, and a sketch on a day I swore I would never forget and haven’t. Every piece is a fragment of us, arranged with purpose. Every sip served is a sharing of our story .
“Thorn,” Draven calls, drawing me back to the present. “Table three is ready for that story you promised.”
“Of course,” I say, pushing off from the counter. “Can’t let them go thirsty for tea or tales.”
With a flourish of the silver teaspoon, I sprinkle a dash of crimson safflower into the delicate mix. The asrbloom tea is an alchemy of its own, a blend that takes more than just skill. It requires a whisper of magic and a heart full of intent. Each ingredient has been chosen with care—star anise for its licorice kiss, rose hips for a blush of vitality, and a secret hint of enchantment that makes it kindred to vampire taste buds.
“Watch it,” I mutter under my breath. “Too much elderflower, and you’ll have them dancing on tables instead of sating their thirst.”
“Wouldn’t be the worst opening day spectacle,” I imagine Draven’s voice teasing back if he stood beside me, but my partner in tea and love is out there, weaving his charm among our patrons, leaving me to the sacred art of brewing .
“Infuse with love, they say,” I say to the steam curling from the pot, “as if love is the sort of thing you can bottle and sell.”
Yet, as I seal the lid, I close my eyes for just a moment, letting the warmth of all I feel for Draven seep into the concoction. If love can be shared through tea, then let this batch be a testament.
“Brace yourselves, folks,” I announce to the room as I carry out a tray with several teapots and cups, grinning at the expectant faces. “The potion master has done it again. Drink deep, and feel the magic.”
As I set down the tray and Draven’s and my eyes met over the rising steam, something unspoken passes between us—a silent vow, a shared dream, and the quiet certainty that together, we are home.
***
I nudge the door open with a hip-check, stepping out onto the cobblestone path that leads up to our tea shop. The capital is alive with its usual hustle, merchants peddling their trinkets and bards crooning for coin. A whiff of roasting chestnuts drifts past, mingling with the petrichor left behind by an early morning drizzle. I fill my lungs with the crisp air, the kind that nips at your nose and makes you grateful for warm scarves and warmer company.
“Taking a breather?” Draven’s voice comes from the doorway, his eyebrow perched in that half-amused arch I know so well.
“More like soaking it all in,” I reply, my breath misting before me. “This city… It’s got a pulse, doesn’t it? And now we’re part of it, our little sanctuary in the midst of chaos.”
“Sanctuary” was the right word. We’ve crafted not just a business, but a refuge, a place where magic meets mundane over cups of liquid enchantment.
I glance back through the window at the cozy interior, heart swelling like dough left to proof.
Draven steps up beside me, his shoulder brushing against mine, a solid presence that sends a familiar thrill down my spine. “We’ve done good, Thorn. Really good.”
“Understatement of the century.” I flash him a grin then turn back inside, feeling that tug in my chest that calls me back to our shared dream.
** *
“All right, last sweep?” Draven asks as the sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky in strokes of fiery orange and dusky purple.
“Last sweep,” I confirm, tying up the final bag of trash with a flourish.
The clatter of dishes has been replaced by the soothing scrape of brushes on china, and the scent of lemon soap rises in soft tendrils. Luna pads silently between us, her white fur catching the fading light, a ghostly sentinel even in the quiet after-hours.
“Hey, careful with that cup,” I tease as Draven carefully places a delicate teacup on the drying rack. “It’s survived a hundred years and two dragon attacks. It’d be a shame if you were its demise.”
“Haha, very funny,” he retorts without looking up, but the twitch of his lips betrays his amusement. “You know I handle everything you treasure with utmost care.”
“Everything I treasure, huh?” I lean back against the counter, crossing my arms and watching him work—a dance of precision and purpose .
“Every last thing,” he says, straightening up and turning to face me, his hand finding mine amidst the bubbles and suds.
“Even the grumpy cat?”
“We have a grumpy cat?” he replies, and I can’t help but laugh.
Cleaning up isn’t just about tidying. It is reaffirming the life we’ve built together, brick by brick, dream by dream. Our fingers intertwine, soap slipping between them, and I feel it again—that profound sense of gratitude for this man, this moment, this magic we’ve spun from nothing but hope and hard work.
“Come on,” I say, giving his hand a gentle tug. “Let’s finish up here. There’s a pot of asrbloom tea with our names on it, and I intend to enjoy every last drop before we call it a night.”
“Lead the way,” he says with that half-smile that always seems to say more than words ever could.
We work until the tea shop gleams, a silent vessel waiting to be filled with tomorrow’s laughter and stories. When we hang the closed sign on the door, I know, deep in my bones, that we are exactly where we are meant to be .
I pour the last of the asrbloom tea into two chipped mugs that survived the day’s frenzy. The shop hums with a satisfied silence, the kind that only comes after a space has buzzed with life and laughter. I settle beside Draven on the cushioned bench by the window, tucking my feet beneath me.
“Today was…” I start but trail off, lost in thought.
“An absolute whirlwind of delight?” Draven offers. He takes a sip of his tea.
“Delight’s one word for it,” I agree, chuckling. “Never thought I’d see the Baroness of Blythe trying to haggle over a scone.”
Draven laughs, a warm sound that fills the room. “And her face when you threw in an extra for good measure. Priceless!”
“Ah, but your face when little Timmy decided your lap was the perfect throne for his cookie kingdom.” I nudge him playfully.
“Ah yes, King Timmy,” he says, rubbing at a phantom crumb. “May his reign be sweet and full of mischief.”
We lean against each other, our sides brushing in the quiet comfort of shared memories. It feels like weaving threads of gold into the tapestry of our lives—a tapestry that shimmers with spells and soft whispers, holding the promise of more days like this.
“None of this would’ve been possible without you, Thorn,” Draven says earnestly, his hand finding mine. “You’re the heart of this place.”
“Us,” I correct softly, squeezing his hand. “We’re the heart of it. That’s what makes it special.”
He nods, and we sit there, two halves of a whole, until the last drop of tea vanishes from our cups.
“Ready to lock up?” he asks, standing and offering me his hand.
“Let’s do it,” I reply, feeling the familiar rush of anticipation as I think about what tomorrow might bring.
The metallic click of the lock echoes through the empty street as we step outside. Draven’s hand is warm in mine, anchoring me to the moment. Luna trails behind us, her tail wagging gracefully with joy. We walk in sync, our shadows stretching long and playful behind us under the light of the half-moon.
“Look at us, huh?” I say, a wistful note coloring my words. “From a half vampire, half witch and a vampire to tea shop connoisseurs.”
“Only the beginning, my fierce enchantress,” he murmurs, lifting our entwined hands to kiss the back of mine.
“Speaking of beginnings, think the world’s ready for what we’ll brew up next?” I tease, bumping my shoulder against his.
“Let them come,” he says, his voice laced with the thrill of future challenges. “We’ll be ready for them, side by side.”
“Side by side,” I echo, knowing it for the truth it is. Our dreams are spun from starlight and shadows, bound tight by love and the certainty that, together, we can face anything the fates toss our way.