Chapter 8 - Norah
CHAPTER EIGHT
Norah
The bell above Hazel & Vine chimes as I step inside, and the scent of dried lavender, pine resin, and sweet smoke wraps around me like a shawl. The shop is warm and dim, lit by amber lamps and rows of candles that flicker in mismatched jars.
Every shelf is stocked with colorful glass bottles filled with herbs, powders, tinctures, and teas. Bundles of sage and chamomile hang from the rafters, brushing the tops of my curls when I pass.
Miss Thea looks up from the counter, her silver hair twisted into a braid that glows against her deep green cardigan.
“You look pale, sweetheart.” Her voice is smooth as honey, threaded with concern. “Come in. Sit. I was wondering when you’d stop pretending you were fine.”
I wince, half laughing. “That obvious?”
“Only to someone who knows what exhaustion smells like.” She gestures to the stool beside the counter. “Sit before you fall over.”
I do, setting my gloves beside a jar labeled “moonwort.” The wood under my palms feels cool, grounding. Thea moves with unhurried grace, her bracelets chiming softly as she gathers a few jars from the shelves.
The air hums faintly. Every time I’m here, I swear I can feel the energy of the place, like the walls are breathing in time with the forest outside town.
She pours steaming water into a ceramic mug painted with faded stars. “So,” she says, “tell me what’s going on in that pretty head before I start guessing.”
I let out a breath. “It’s the dreams again,” I admit. “They’re getting stronger. I wake up burning. Not just warm. It feels like my body’s gearing up for something it shouldn’t be.”
Her sharp eyes soften. “And you’ve been taking your medical suppressants?”
“Yes. Like clockwork. And your teas.”
“Describe the dreams.”
I hesitate, but she’s already watching me like she knows half of it already.
“They’re not normal dreams,” I say quietly. “It’s scent and touch and... instinct. Like I’m being called by someone. It’s familiar. The worst part is that when I wake up, I can still feel it. My pulse won’t slow down for hours.”
Miss Thea hums, unscrewing a small jar of crushed herbs that smell faintly of smoke and citrus. “Your body’s fighting itself, Norah. Suppressants are never foolproof, especially with emotions running high. You’ve been under stress, yes?”
I nod, rubbing at my wrist. “Dorian’s back.”
Her hands still mid-motion, then she nods once, like that explains everything. “Ah. That would do it. Old bonds don’t fade just because you want them to. Your system remembers.”
I stare down into my lap. “It’s such a long time. It shouldn’t still affect me like this.”
“Shouldn’t,” she repeats gently, “but it does. Hearts and instincts aren’t ruled by calendars.”
She sprinkles a pinch of the crushed herbs into the steaming mug. The scent blooms sharp, something between lemongrass and mint.
“Drink this nightly for the next three days. It’ll stabilize your scent signature and calm your heat response. Combine it with your medical suppressant, but no more than that. Too much will send you the other way.”
I take the cup she offers, the rim warm against my fingers. “Will it stop the dreams?”
“It’ll help you sleep through them. The rest,” she says, resting her palm lightly on my wrist, “depends on how much of him you let linger in your thoughts.”
I smile weakly. “So I’m doomed.”
Her laugh is soft and knowing. “Only if you stop fighting it. Now go, before I keep you here for tea and gossip.”
I stand, pulling on my gloves. The shop hums faintly behind me, the shelves whispering as if the herbs themselves approve of her advice.
Snow drifts through the air, soft and steady. The street glitters under the late afternoon light, the town already halfway dressed for the Halloween festival. Orange lanterns hang from the lampposts. The scent of cinnamon and pine syrup rides the wind.
The next few days blur into motion. Between flower orders, bouquet arrangements, and running inventory, I barely have time to breathe.
The town council loved my idea for the community hall Autumn Revival Halloween.
They clapped when I presented it, and now I’m paying for that success with sleepless nights and ink-stained fingers.
Luckily, Wren saved my ass.
By the time I haul my fourth crate of roses into the cold room behind Fox & Fern Café, she’s already there, leaning against the stainless-steel counter with a mug of cocoa and a mischievous grin.
“You’re lucky I love you,” she says. “You’ve completely hijacked my storage.”
“I’m bribing you with free floral centerpieces,” I say, setting the crate down. “That’s love language enough.”
She laughs, rubbing her belly. “Beau and Levi should be back any minute. They’re getting the last of the eucalyptus from the truck.”
“Bless them both.” I push a stray curl behind my ear and glance around the cold room. Buckets line every inch of space, filled with water and stems—roses, lilies, chrysanthemums, all tagged with handwritten notes. My handwriting’s a mess, but at least it’s legible.
Wren watches me for a beat. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Define okay.”
She gives me that knowing look that makes lying impossible.
I sigh. “Thea gave me more herbs. I’ve been… off. My suppressants aren’t keeping up.”
“Is it because of—”
“Yes.”
Her brows knit. “You haven’t seen him again, have you?”
“No.” I grab a bunch of ranunculus and start trimming stems. “But I keep hearing his name everywhere. Jude mentioned him in a meeting. Everyone’s talking about the architecture firm coming to town. I’m trying not to spiral.”
Wren exhales, setting her cup down. “Then focus on the work. You’ve got your hands full with the hall project.”
“I know. That’s actually what I’m headed to next. I’m meeting Jude and Ryker at the site.”
Her expression brightens instantly. “So it’s official? You’re doing the flowers for the big renovation unveiling, too?”
“Yeah.” I try to sound confident, even though my stomach twists. “They want arrangements for the reopening ceremony, plus ongoing contracts for events. It’s a huge deal.”
“You deserve it,” she says firmly. “Your aunt would be proud.”
I smile, throat tight. “Don’t make me cry before a meeting.”
She grins. “Fine, fine. Then let’s talk costumes. What are you wearing for Halloween? Don’t tell me you’re skipping it.”
I groan. “I don’t know yet. Maybe I’ll just put on a witch hat and call it thematic advertising.”
“Boring.”
“You’re pregnant. You don’t get to judge.”
“I can still accessorize,” she teases. “Simon’s going as a lumberjack, and Levi and Beau are fighting over who gets to be the vampire. I’m going as the pumpkin they’re all obsessed with.”
I laugh so hard I nearly drop the scissors. “That’s perfect.”
“It’s practical,” she says, patting her belly. “Now go before you’re late. And hey, if that man shows up at the site, remember you can call me. I’ll come armed with garden shears.”
“Noted.”
Outside, the wind bites sharper, carrying the scent of cedar and snow. I load the last crate into my van and start the drive to Elm Street.
The community hall is a two-story relic with peeling red paint and bowed gutters. I used to attend winter dances here as a teenager, all string lights and awkward laughter.
Now, there’s scaffolding crowding the sides, plastic sheeting flapping in the wind, the echo of hammers ringing through the cold air.
Jude’s truck is already parked out front. I spot him near the entrance, clipboard in hand, hard hat pushed back on his messy brown hair.
Ryker stands beside him, the quiet solidity of him grounding the chaos around them. They both look up when I approach.
“Hey, Knightly!” Jude calls. “Right on time.”
“Miracle of miracles,” I say, brushing snow from my coat. “I brought samples for the color palette.”
Ryker nods in greeting, his smile faint but genuine. “Glad you’re here. The place is a mess, but it’s starting to take shape.”
Inside, the hall smells like sawdust and varnish. Dust motes swirl through sunlight streaming from the high windows.
Wooden beams stretch overhead, half sanded, half raw. My boots crunch over old plaster as I follow them deeper in.
Jude’s talking about layout changes, but my focus drifts. A low, steady hum of energy fills the space—something old stirring beneath the scent of construction. My pulse thrums with it, too in sync to ignore.
Ryker opens the side door leading to the temporary office set up in one of the cleared rooms. “The new architect’s already here,” he says. “We’re going over final measurements.”
I nod, smoothing my scarf and forcing my nerves into submission. “Perfect.”
I step through the doorway—and the world tilts.
Dorian stands at the drafting table, sleeves rolled up, hair a little longer than when I last saw him, eyes fixed on a blueprint. He looks up when he hears the door.
Our gazes lock.
The sound of Jude’s voice fades behind me, replaced by the drum of my heartbeat.
He’s here. Not as a memory or a dream. Not as the ghost that’s been haunting the edges of my heat-fueled nights. Here, flesh and bone and every scent my body remembers.
“Norah,” he says, quiet but clear.
My throat tightens. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Ryker frowns, catching the tension instantly. “You’re with Denzel and Ridge?”
Dorian nods. “Lead architect on the project.”
My stomach sinks. The universe has a sick sense of humor.
Jude, ever the optimist, claps his hands once. “Well, guess that makes collaboration easier. Norah’s in charge of the floral design for the reopening.”
Dorian’s eyes flick to me again. “Of course she is.”
I bristle. “Don’t sound so surprised.”
“I’m not.” His voice softens, barely audible. “I just didn’t expect—”
“Me?”
He meets my stare, something raw flickering behind his calm. “This.”
Silence stretches, heavy and electric.
Jude clears his throat. “Right. I’ll, uh, get the measurements from the back room.” He disappears fast, dragging Ryker with him under the excuse of needing to check the insulation.
That leaves us alone.
The air feels charged, too warm. I catch his scent—bergamot, leather, faint heat. It hits like a memory wrapped in temptation. My suppressants hum against my veins, struggling to hold the line.
“You could have told me,” I say, voice low.
“I didn’t know until this morning,” he answers. “My firm was finalizing the details with the mayor. I didn’t think—”
“That you’d run into me again?” I laugh, sharp. “Fox Hollow’s small, Dorian. You always forget that part.”
His gaze softens. “Norah, can we talk about the other—”
“Don’t.” I take a step back, needing space, air, anything. “Just—don’t. I’m here to do my job. So are you. Let’s keep it that way.”
He nods slowly, like he’s agreeing with the words but not the meaning. “If that’s what you want.”
“It’s what I need.”
The room hums with the echo of drills and wind rattling the windowpanes. Somewhere outside, a hammer strikes metal. My heartbeat matches it.
I turn to leave before the warmth under my skin can betray me.