Chapter 2
The florist was running away from him.
Thallos watched her weave through the remaining crowd with the practiced efficiency of someone who had spent her whole life avoiding attention.
Head down, shoulders slightly hunched, notebook clutched to her chest like a talisman.
She moved like water finding the path of least resistance—around clusters of chatting business owners, past the refreshment table, through the double doors and out into the fading afternoon light.
*Interesting.*
He'd noticed her the moment he walked into the Chamber of Commerce meeting.
Hard not to, really. She'd tucked herself into a corner seat behind that half-dead fern, clearly hoping to blend into the background, and instead had managed to draw his attention like a single wildflower in a field of grass.
It wasn't that she was beautiful, though she was—in that soft, understated way that crept up on you.
Dark brown hair pulled back in a practical braid, a few loose strands framing a face that was all gentle curves and wary green eyes.
She had the kind of gentle features that probably made people underestimate her and assume she was younger and more naive than she appeared.
But her eyes told a different story.
Those green eyes had taken his measure in approximately three seconds flat and found him wanting. He'd seen the exact moment her guard went up—watched her expression shutter like a window closing against a storm.
Most people warmed to his charm. That was the thing about being a satyr; they came with certain expectations baked in.
The easy flirtation, the sensual energy, the reputation for revelry and pleasure.
Thallos had spent his entire adult life either leaning into those expectations or fighting against them, depending on the situation.
Marigold Bloom had looked at him like she could see straight through every smile he'd ever deployed as a weapon.
*Very interesting.*
"She's lovely, isn't she?" Ellie appeared at his elbow, coffee cup in hand, wearing a smug smile that immediately put him on guard.
"Subtle as always, Ellie."
"I don't know what you mean."
"You nominated her." He turned to face the older woman, one eyebrow raised. "Out of nowhere. A business owner who's been here less than two years, and who clearly wanted nothing to do with the festival committee."
Ellie sipped her coffee innocently. "She has excellent taste. The town needs fresh perspectives."
"Mm-hmm. And the fact that you've been trying to play matchmaker for me since my mother's funeral has nothing to do with it."
The soft shadow of remembered grief flickered across Ellie's face. She'd been one of his mother's closest friends.
"Your mother wanted grandchildren," she said finally. "She told me so. Often."
"My mother wanted a lot of things," he said roughly, then softened the words with a half-smile. "And while I appreciate the thought, Ellie, I don't need help finding company."
"I know that." Ellie rolled her eyes. "That's exactly the problem. Company isn't what you need, Thallos, and that girl isn't company."
"Oh? What is she, then?"
"Someone who might actually stick around." She patted his arm, her rings clinking softly. "But what do I know? I'm just a meddling old woman who cares about you."
She wandered off before he could respond, leaving him standing by the nearly empty refreshment table with the taste of her words lingering in his mouth.
*Someone who might actually stick around.*
As if it were that simple. As if the women who had drifted in and out of his life had left because of anything as simple as not sticking around.
As if the one who had actually mattered hadn't taught him exactly what it felt like to be seen as nothing more than a good time, a pleasant diversion, an exotic experience to brag about to friends.
He shook the thought away and reached for his phone.
The florist's business card had been visible in her notebook—cream-colored stock with a delicate green vine motif, her name and number printed in clean serif font. He'd memorized it without thinking, the way he memorized most things worth remembering.
*Looking forward to working with you, Marigold. — T*
The response came faster than he expected:
*Same. Let's keep it professional.*
He grinned. Actually, genuinely grinned, the kind of smile that came from somewhere real instead of somewhere practiced.
She was already trying to establish boundaries. Already putting up walls.
*Wouldn't dream of anything else.*
He added a winking emoji because he knew it would annoy her.
Then he pocketed his phone and headed for the door, already thinking about their next meeting.
The next morning he headed into town, whistling cheerfully.
Bloom & Vine occupied an old two-story brick building on Main Street that had been empty for nearly a decade before Marigold arrived.
The previous owner had run a small hardware store there until his death, and his heirs had let the lease lapse while arguing about the estate.
Now the window displays held an explosion of color that stopped pedestrians in their tracks.
He paused across the street to appreciate it.
Whoever had designed this arrangement knew exactly what they were doing.
Tall spikes of blue delphinium anchored the composition, softened by clouds of white baby's breath and punctuated by bursts of coral peonies.
Trailing ivy spilled over the edges of vintage copper vessels, and the whole thing was arranged to catch the morning light like stained glass.
*She's good,* he thought. *Really good.*
The shop door jingled as he pushed it open, releasing a wave of scent that washed over him—roses and eucalyptus, herbs and something darker, earthier.
His satyr senses, always more acute than a human's, parsed the individual notes: the sweetness of sweet peas from that basket near the door, the sharp green of freshly cut stems, the faint undertone of rich soil.
Marigold stood at the counter with her back to him, arms elbow-deep in flowers and wire and what appeared to be organized chaos. She was wearing a practical canvas apron over a soft green blouse, her dark brown braid trailing down her spine, a pencil tucked behind her ear.
"Be right with you," she said without turning. "If you're here for the Hendricks arrangement, it's almost—"
"I'm not here for an arrangement."
Her spine stiffened. She turned, and there it was again—that flicker of wariness in her green eyes, the slight tightening of her jaw.
"Thallos."
"Good morning to you too, little flower." He grinned, deliberately easy, letting his hooves click softly against the floorboards as he moved toward the counter. "Sleep well?"
"Fine. Thank you." She set down the wire cutters she'd been holding, squared her shoulders, and faced him like someone preparing for battle. "I wasn't expecting you."
"Clearly." He glanced pointedly at the refrigerated display case to his left, where ranks of prepared arrangements sat waiting for pickup. "I could come back if you'd rather—"
"No. I mean—" She pressed her lips together, visibly annoyed at her own flustered response. "You didn't say you were coming by."
"Didn't I?" He pulled out his phone, made a show of scrolling through their brief text exchange. "You're right. How terribly rude of me."
"I don't think you're actually sorry."
"I'm not." He pocketed the phone and smiled at her. "But I figured you'd dodge a scheduled meeting. This way you can't pretend to have a conflict."
Her cheeks flushed pink, and oh, that was a good look on her. The color spread from her cheekbones down her neck, and he couldn't help wondering how far down that tide of pink had traveled. Her fingers twitched toward the wire cutters like she was considering using them as a weapon.
"I would not have dodged—"
"No?"
"I'm a professional." She lifted her chin. "If we have festival business to discuss, we should discuss it. I was simply expecting some warning."
"Consider this warning for next time." He leaned against the counter, deliberately casual, deliberately close.
Close enough to catch a hint of her scent beneath the overwhelming perfume of the flowers—something warm and a little sweet, like vanilla and spring rain.
"Do you want to show me around the rest of your shop? "
She blinked. "What?"
"The shop." He gestured at the space around them. "I want to see it. If we're going to be working together, I should know what you're capable of."
That got a reaction. Her eyes narrowed, some of her wariness transforming into something sharper.
"What I'm capable of?"
"Professionally speaking." He pushed off the counter and began wandering the perimeter of the shop before she could object, examining the carefully arranged displays.
A variety of potted plants mingled with the flowers and an eclectic collection of garden objects ranging from an old wheelbarrow to a delicate wrought iron table.
The flowers ranged from traditional roses and lilies to a spray of ghost orchids in a temperature-controlled case that must have cost a fortune to install.
"You don't just source these locally," he said, stopping in front of the orchids. "Some of these species are—"
"Endangered. Yes." She'd followed him warily, still holding the wire cutters, though she didn't seem aware of it. "I have licensed suppliers. Everything is legally obtained."
"I wasn't accusing you of flower crimes."
Her flush deepened. "I didn't think… I just…" She set down the wire cutters with more force than necessary. "People ask. Sometimes people assume—"
"That you're trafficking in illegal orchids?"
"It's happened."
He turned to face her, genuinely curious. "You're serious."
"There's a thriving black market for rare botanicals. Ghost orchids can sell for thousands on certain websites." She crossed her arms over her chest, defensive and clearly waiting for mockery. "I get inspectors from the wildlife service twice a year."
"So you're telling me that beneath this charming small-town florist exterior, you're actually a reformed plant smuggler?"
"I never—" She stopped, caught the gleam of amusement in his eyes, and her jaw tightened. "You're teasing me."
"A little." He smiled, softer this time, letting some of the performative charm drop away. "You're easy to tease, little flower."
"And you find that amusing."
"I find you amusing." He watched her process that, watched the pink in her cheeks deepen to something closer to rose. "You're not what I expected."
"What did you expect?"
Someone who would smile and flutter and be easy to figure out. He'd spent so long being what people expected—the charming satyr, the flirtatious winemaker, the good time waiting to happen—that he'd almost forgotten some people came in different shapes.
"I'm not sure," he admitted. "But not this. You look like you'd bolt for the door if I raised my voice."
"I wouldn't—"
"But you've got claws." He nodded toward her, still smiling. "You just hide them well."
She stared at him, visibly off-balance, and he decided he liked that look on her. Liked the way it made her green eyes spark with something other than wariness.
"Is this how you normally conduct business meetings?" she asked finally. "By wandering into people's shops unannounced and analyzing their personalities?"
"Only the interesting ones."
"I'm not interesting."
"You keep saying that." He moved closer, not crowding her but definitely entering her space. Testing. "Almost like you're trying to convince me."
"I'm trying to establish boundaries."
"I know." He grinned. "How's that working out for you?"
She opened her mouth, closed it, and made a sound that was almost a growl. That was… unexpected, and, frankly, more attractive than it had any right to be.
"You're impossible," she said.
"I've been called worse."
"I believe it."
They stood there for a moment, facing each other in the middle of her shop, the air between them thick with flower perfume and something charged and electric, like the space before a storm.
She broke first. She took two quick steps back, putting the counter between them, and reached for a clipboard that was clearly meant to serve as both prop and barrier.
"We should discuss the festival," she said, her voice firmly businesslike. "I've been reviewing the files Ellie sent over. The previous committee had some preliminary notes, but nothing concrete."
"Agreed."
"The event is scheduled for June 21st, which gives us less than six weeks to finalize vendors, entertainment, decorations, permits—"
"Sounds about right."
"—and we'll need a venue." She flipped through the papers on her clipboard without actually looking at them. "The notes mention several possibilities, but nothing's been confirmed."
"Actually," he said calmly, "the venue's already settled."
Her head came up. "It is?"
"Has been for months." He leaned against her counter again, enjoying the way she tried not to look directly at him. "It's being held at the vineyard."
She went very still.
"Your vineyard."
"My vineyard." He couldn't quite keep the satisfaction out of his voice. "Ellie didn't mention that?"
"No." The word came out flat. "She did not."
"Surprise."
He watched her absorb this information, realizing that it meant weeks of planning and meetings and the coordination that would inevitably have to take place on his home turf. Where he had the advantage. Where she would have to come to him.
"So," he continued, pushing off the counter and heading toward the door, "it appears you'll be visiting after all. Think of it as a professional necessity."
"That's… You can't just…"
"Can't just what?" He paused at the threshold, looked back over his shoulder. "Host a festival on my own property? I assure you, it's already been approved. Permits filed, insurance secured, the whole package."
Her jaw was so tight he could see the muscle jumping beneath her skin.
"You planned this."
"I planned to host the festival, yes. Ellie planned you, little flower." He flashed her a genuine smile. "Believe it or not, I'm just as surprised as you are."
"I don't believe you."
"Fair enough." He pushed the door open, letting the morning sunshine spill into the shop. "I'll send you my availability for our next meeting. Something tells me your calendar just freed up."
The door jingled behind him as he stepped out onto the sidewalk, and he could have sworn he heard her make that almost-growl sound again.
*Definitely interesting,* he thought, walking toward his truck with a spring in his step he hadn't felt in months.
The florist with the hidden claws and the wary green eyes. Someone who might actually stick around.