Chapter 5
The dead bolt she rarely used slid home with a satisfying click.
Marigold pressed her back against the door and stood there, breathing hard, as though she'd sprinted the last few blocks instead of walking them at a deliberately measured pace.
Her heart was pounding in a rhythm that felt more like jazz than a waltz, all syncopation and unexpected beats.
*He kissed me.*
No. Wait. That wasn't quite right. Because she'd had a chance to pull away and she hadn't taken it.
*I let him kiss me.*
Even worse.
She pushed away from the door and moved through her apartment on autopilot, dropping her bag on the vintage trunk that served as a coffee table, kicking off her shoes, reaching for the string of fairy lights that wound around the exposed beam above the kitchen counter.
The warm glow transformed the space instantly, chasing shadows into the corners and illuminating the life she'd built for herself here. Her sanctuary. Her proof that she could make something beautiful from nothing.
The apartment wasn't large. A tiny kitchen that opened to the living area, a bedroom barely big enough for her queen-sized bed, and a bathroom she'd painted a deep, soothing green.
French doors at the back of the living room opened onto a tiny balcony with a view of the lake, just large enough for morning coffee and or a sunset glass of wine.
The memory of tasting wine with Thallos flashed through her mind, but she pushed it away just as quickly.
Despite the size, she'd made every inch of the apartment count.
Macramé plant hangers cascaded from the ceiling, trailing pothos and string of pearls.
A Turkish rug in deep reds and golds covered the worn hardwood floor.
Mismatched throw pillows in jewel tones crowded her secondhand sofa, and a bookshelf made of salvaged crates held her collection of botanical encyclopedias and dog-eared romance novels.
It was bohemian and cozy and entirely hers. No one else's taste. No one else's mess. No one else's chaos threatening to swallow it whole. Usually, walking through that door felt like exhaling after holding her breath all day.
Tonight, it felt like hiding.
She sank onto the sofa and pulled a pillow into her lap, hugging it against her stomach like armor. Outside, she could hear the faint sounds of evening in Harmony Glen—a car door closing, someone laughing on the street below, the distant chime of the clock tower marking the hour.
Inside, she could hear nothing but the echo of her own thoughts.
Wine and warmth and the brush of his lips and—
She hugged the pillow tighter.
It had been barely a kiss. A graze. The kind of thing that could almost be explained away as an accident, a natural consequence of standing too close to a beautiful male who smelled like summer and looked at her like she was worth looking at.
Her fingers found her lips, tracing the place where he'd touched her. They felt impossibly sensitive, as though that single brush had changed something fundamental.
*Stop this,* she told herself sternly. *You know better. You know what happens when you let someone like him get close to you.*
But that was the problem, wasn't it? She didn't know him.
Not really. She'd made assumptions based on a single trait—the charm, the easy confidence, the way he moved through the world like he owned it.
The same charm her mother wielded like a weapon.
The charm she'd learned to associate with disappointment and abandonment and a trail of destruction that she had to clean up.
But Thallos wasn't just charm. He was the grief in his eyes when he talked about his mother. The pride when he showed her the vineyard. The way he'd accepted her refusal to let him walk next to her with nothing but a quiet "Whatever you need, little flower."
And the flowers. God, the way the flowers had bloomed at his touch, as though the entire trellis had been holding its breath, waiting for him to tell them it was time.
She pushed herself off the sofa, suddenly restless, and paced to the back of the apartment. The French doors stood open, the evening air flowing in, cool and fresh after the day's heat. She stepped out onto the tiny balcony, her bare feet on the cool wood, and looked down at her garden.
Not a big garden—barely more than a container garden, really, with pots and planters of every description crowding the small space.
But it was hers. She'd built it from seedlings and cuttings, from the remnants of her mother's neglected collection and the additions she'd carefully cultivated since moving in.
Her fingers trailed over the leaves of her favorite—a climbing hydrangea in a massive pot that she'd been training up a trellis for the past year.
The blooms were just beginning to open, delicate lace caps of white and pale green, and she thought about the way Thallos had made her roses bloom.
The way she might have bloomed under his kiss if she hadn't pulled away so quickly.
What if she hadn't pulled away?
Her chest tightened at the thought. What if she'd let him kiss her properly? Would it have been as devastating as she imagined? Would his hands have found her waist, pulling her closer? Would he have tasted her as thoroughly as he'd tasted the wine?
She was being ridiculous. Getting carried away with a fantasy that had no place in her life. She was the careful one, the sensible one, the one who knew better than to trust in charm and pretty words and promises made in the heat of the moment.
But the memory of his lips on hers wouldn't fade. The way her body had responded, softening before her brain could catch up. The way her hands had wanted to reach for him, to pull him closer instead of pushing him away.
"You're being an idiot," she whispered to her hydrangea. The leaves rustled slightly in the evening breeze, as though in agreement.
She needed a distraction. Something concrete, something she could control. Her gaze fell on the stack of floral design magazines on the small bistro table—inspiration for tomorrow's arrangements, nothing more.
But as she picked up the top magazine, she caught sight of her reflection in the darkened window. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair escaping from its braid, her lips slightly swollen as though she really had been thoroughly kissed.
"Stupid," she muttered into the empty apartment. "Stupid, stupid, stupid."
She wasn't sure if she meant him for kissing her, or herself for letting him, or the whole situation for existing in the first place. Maybe all three. Maybe none of them. Maybe the only stupid thing was the way her lips still tingled, even now, as though his mouth had left a mark she couldn't see.
Her phone buzzed in her bag.
She ignored it.
It buzzed again.
And again.
With a groan, she dug through her bag until her fingers closed around the vibrating rectangle.
Lila's face grinned up at her from the screen—a selfie they'd taken three months ago at the Harmony Glen farmers' market, Lila's brown curls wild from the wind, both of them laughing.
Lila was new in town as well, an artist who'd given up on city life to dedicate herself to her art.
She'd found the creative inspiration she'd been seeking—along with a huge minotaur who worshipped the ground she walked on.
Three text messages.
Lila: How was the vineyard???
Lila: Did he try to get you drunk? I bet he tried to get you drunk.
Lila: Mari. MARI. It's been four hours. Either you're dead or you're having a really good time. ANSWER ME.
Despite everything, she grinned, then hit the call button instead of texting back. Lila answered on the first ring.
"Finally! I was about to send Torin on a rescue mission."
"Please don't. He'd scare Thallos half to death."
"I doubt that. For one thing, they already know each other. And for another…" She could almost hear Lila shrug. "I don't think Thallos is that easily scared."
"How do you know?"
"I've heard people talking about him. He's basically a walking fertility symbol. The legs of a goat and probably the—"
"I'm hanging up."
"You won't."
She wouldn't. They both knew it. She settled back down on the sofa, tucking her feet beneath her as she tried to figure out what she actually wanted to say.
"The vineyard was beautiful," she offered finally. "Really beautiful. Rows and rows of vines, all perfectly tended. And his wine shop—it's got these old stone walls and wooden beams and actually comfortable seating. Not those terrible metal chairs you find everywhere now."
"Uh huh."
"The wine was good too. Really good. Everything I tried was delicious."
"Mhmm."
"And the space for the festival is perfect. Open and flat with this incredible view up into the mountains. We could fit the dance floor, the vendor booths, even a small stage for music—"
"Marigold Bloom."
She stopped.
"You're describing a real estate listing," Lila said flatly. "I asked how it was, not for the square footage. What happened?"
*He kissed me. I kissed him back. Then I panicked and spent the entire walk home three feet ahead of him like a coward, and when we got here he made my roses bloom with literal magic and I was still too afraid to let him touch me .*
"Nothing happened," she said, trying to sound convincing. "We talked about the festival. I tasted some wine. He walked me home. That's it."
The silence on the other end of the line stretched long enough to become uncomfortable.
"You're lying."
"I'm not."
"Mari. I can hear it in your voice. Something happened, and you're doing that thing where you flatten everything down so it doesn't sound important, which means it's actually very important." A pause. "Did he do something? Say something? Because I will absolutely send Torin over there if—"
"No! No, nothing like that. He was…" She searched for the right word. "Fine. He was fine."
"Fine."
"Yes."
"You're saying fine the way you said 'fine' when your mom left you to run the shop alone."