Chapter 14
Thallos stood at the edge of the Town Square, half-hidden behind the sprawling oak that had watched over Harmony Glen for three centuries.
The summer evening concert was in full swing—strings of fairy lights crisscrossed overhead, casting everything in a warm golden glow that made the gathering feel like something out of a dream.
Food carts lined the perimeter, the scents of grilled corn and kettle corn and something savory and rich from the troll-run barbecue stand mingling into something warm and appetizing.
A five-piece band occupied the gazebo at the square's center, working through a lively folk tune that had couples spinning across the cobblestones.
It was everything a small-town summer evening should be. Charming. Warm. Full of laughter and connection.
He felt like he was about to walk into a firing squad.
*This is stupid,* the coward in him whispered. *She'll say no. She'll say no in front of everyone, and then you'll have to see these people every day for the rest of your life, and they'll all remember the night the satyr made a fool of himself over a florist who wanted nothing to do with him.*
He shifted his weight, hooves silent on the grass. When had he last been this nervous? Not since… not since the last time he'd played, really. Years ago, before Jen, before the vineyard, before he'd learned that some things were safer left untouched.
The band shifted into a slower number. Couples moved closer together, swaying in the gentle rhythm.
Now or never.
He scanned the crowd.
The Sanderson sisters had claimed their usual bench near the fountain, a massive basket of knitting between them.
Ellie caught his eye and raised one silver eyebrow in a look that clearly said get on with it.
Harold Malcolm from the dime store was dancing with his wife, both of them moving with the comfortable ease of people who'd been partners for decades.
A group of teenagers clustered near the kettle corn cart, pretending not to watch the adults with barely concealed judgment.
And there—
His heart stuttered.
Marigold stood near the edge of the dance floor, a paper cup clutched in both hands like a shield.
Her friend Lila was beside her, gesturing animatedly about something, but Marigold's attention kept drifting.
She looked tired, he realized. Not the pleasant exhaustion of a long day's work, but something deeper.
Shadows under her eyes. A tension in her shoulders that hadn't been there before.
*Because of me,* he thought. *Because she's been carrying Rachel's poison for days and I did nothing to counter it.*
Lila said something that made Marigold smile, but it was a pale thing, a ghost of the expression he remembered from the grove. From those moments before everything went wrong, when she'd looked at him like he was worth the risk.
The song ended. Applause rippled through the crowd.
He stepped out from behind the oak.
The walk across the square felt like it took hours. He was aware of eyes turning, of whispers starting—a satyr carrying an enormous bouquet wasn't exactly subtle, and half the town probably knew about his and Marigold's recent tension. Small towns ran on gossip like cars ran on gasoline.
He ignored all of it. He kept his gaze fixed on Marigold, on the way her shoulders tensed when she noticed him approaching, on the flicker of something in her eyes that might have been hope or fear or both.
Lila spotted him next.
"Oh, finally," she said, loud enough to carry. "I was starting to think I'd have to drag you both into a room and lock the door."
"Lila," Marigold snapped.
"What? Someone had to say it." But Lila was already stepping back, giving them space. "I'm going to get more cider. Take your time."
She melted into the crowd, leaving Marigold alone and cornered and looking at him like he was either a lifeline or an executioner.
"Hi," he said.
Brilliant opening. Really masterful.
"Hi." She clutched her cup tighter. "I didn't… I didn't know you'd be here."
"I wasn't sure I would be." He offered her the bouquet, but when she didn't take it, he set it down on the table next to her, needing his hands free. "Can we talk?"
"Thallos—"
"Please."
The word came out rough. Raw. He watched something shift in her expression—wariness giving way to uncertainty, then something softer.
"Okay," she said quietly. "Talk."
He'd rehearsed this. He'd spent the last twenty-four hours turning the words over in his mind, trying to find the right combination that would unlock whatever door she'd closed between them.
But now, with her standing right there and the fairy lights catching the green of her eyes, all his careful speeches evaporated.
"I'm not very good at this," he started.
"At what?"
"Being honest. Being vulnerable." He forced himself not to look away. "I've spent most of my life treating charm like armor. If I kept people entertained, kept them smiling, they never looked too closely. Never saw the parts of me that weren't so… shiny."
Her fingers loosened slightly on her cup. "Thallos—"
"Let me finish. Please." He took a breath. "When I stopped things in the grove, I told you the magic might have influenced your response. I thought I was being honorable. Giving you a way out if you needed one."
"It was—"
"It was a mistake." The words hung between them. "Because what I should have made clear was that the grove doesn't create feelings. It only amplifies what's already there. And what I felt—what I feel—has nothing to do with magic."
The band started up again, something slow and sweet. Around them, couples began drifting back to the dance floor.
"I heard what Rachel said to you," he continued. "At the coffee shop."
Her face went pale. "How did you—"
"Doesn't matter. What matters is that she was wrong.
About all of it." He stepped closer, close enough to see the rapid flutter of her pulse at her throat.
"Yes, I've been with other people. I won't pretend otherwise, although it hasn't been as many as she seems to have implied.
But I have never—*never*—treated anyone like a conquest. And I have never felt about anyone the way I feel about you. "
"You barely know me."
"I know that you talk to your plants when you think no one's listening.
I know that you organize your thoughts in color-coded notebooks because chaos makes you nervous.
I know that you've spent your whole life cleaning up other people's messes, and you're terrified of becoming one yourself.
" He reached out, slowly, giving her time to pull away.
When she didn't, he took her cup and set it aside on a nearby table.
"I know that you're brave and stubborn and kind, and that you deserve someone who sees all of that.
Not just the parts you show everyone else. "
Her breath caught. "Thallos…"
"Dance with me."
"What?"
"Dance with me." He gestured at the couples swaying around them. "Here. Now. In front of everyone."
"I can't—I don't—"
"I'll lead. All you have to do is hold on." He offered his hand, palm up. "Let me show you that I'm serious. That this isn't a game or a passing fancy or whatever Rachel convinced you it was. Let me prove it."
She stared at his hand like it might bite her.
The moment stretched. The music swelled. Somewhere behind him, he could hear whispers building. The whole town was watching, waiting to see what would happen, but all that mattered was what she thought.
*Say yes,* he thought. *Please. Just give me a chance.*
She looked up at him. Her eyes were bright, almost too bright, and her voice shook when she spoke.
"You're making a scene."
"I don't care."
"Everyone's watching."
"Let them watch." He kept his hand steady, even though his heart was trying to hammer its way out of his chest. "I've spent my whole life playing a part.
Keeping up appearances. But I'm done hiding, Marigold.
I'm done pretending that what I want doesn't matter.
And what I want is you. Just you. If you'll have me. "
A tear slipped down her cheek. She brushed it away with the back of her hand, looking annoyed with herself.
"This is ridiculous," she said.
"Completely."
"I'm terrible at dancing."
"I'll catch you if you stumble."
"And if I step on your hooves?"
"They've survived worse."
A laugh escaped her, watery and uncertain and the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. She looked at his hand again, then at the couples around them, then back at his face.
"One dance," she said.
"One dance."
"And then we talk. Properly. Without an audience."
"Anything you want."
She placed her hand in his.
The touch sent electricity singing through his veins. He drew her gently onto the dance floor, into the space where the fairy lights were brightest and half of Harmony Glen could see them clearly. He could feel the weight of eyes, the buzz of whispered speculation, and he couldn't have cared less.
He settled one hand at her waist, the other cradling her fingers like something precious.
"Ready?" he murmured.
"No."
"Good. Neither am I."
And then they were moving.
She was stiff at first, just like in the grove—too aware of her feet, too worried about making mistakes. He guided her through the simple steps, using pressure and momentum rather than words. A slight squeeze to signal a turn. A subtle shift to help her find the rhythm.
Gradually, impossibly, she began to relax.
Her hand loosened in his. Her shoulders dropped. She stopped watching her feet and started watching him instead, and the look in her eyes made him feel like he'd swallowed the sun.
"People are staring," she said.
"People are jealous."
"Of what?"
"Of me." He pulled her slightly closer, not enough to be improper, but enough that he could feel the warmth of her through the thin fabric of her dress. "I'm dancing with the most beautiful woman in Harmony Glen. They have every right to be envious."
"You're ridiculous."
"You keep saying that."
"Because it keeps being true."
The song shifted into something slower, sweeter. Other couples faded to background noise. In that moment, there was only Marigold—the green of her eyes, the warmth of her hand, the way she fit against him like she'd been designed to be there.
"I was scared," she said quietly.
"I know."
"Rachel said… she said things that made sense. About you, about satyrs, about how this always ends." She looked away. "My mother fell for charming men my whole life. They always left. They always broke her. And I promised myself I'd never—"
"I'm not them."
"I know." Her voice cracked. "I think I've known since the beginning. That's what scared me most of all."
He stopped dancing.
They stood in the middle of the dance floor, fairy lights overhead and the whole town watching, and he didn't give a damn about any of it.
"Marigold."
She looked up at him.
"I like you," he said. "I more than like you.
I think I've been waiting for you my whole life without knowing what I was waiting for.
And I know that's terrifying. I know you have every reason not to trust me.
But I'm asking you—I'm begging you—give me a chance to prove that I'm different.
That this is different. That you can be safe with me. "
A tear slipped down her cheek. Then another.
"Okay," she whispered.
"Okay?"
"Yes." The word was barely audible, but it rang through him like a bell. "Yes, I'll give you a chance."
He pulled her close, not into a kiss—that would come later, somewhere private, somewhere he could take his time—but into an embrace.
He held her against his chest and felt her arms come around him, felt her face press into the hollow of his throat, felt her body shake with something that might have been tears or laughter or both.
Around them, the music played on.
Someone—probably Lila—let out a whoop that was quickly shushed by others. The Sanderson sisters were smiling, Thallos could feel it even without looking. The whispers had taken on a different quality now, warmer and more approving.
He didn't care about any of it.
He cared about the woman in his arms. The chance she'd given him. The future stretching out before them, uncertain and terrifying and full of possibility.
"One more dance?" he murmured against her hair.
She pulled back just enough to look at him. Her eyes were red-rimmed but bright, and a smile—a real one, finally—curved her lips.
"One more," she agreed. "And then you're buying me dinner."
"Deal."
He swept her back into motion, and this time she followed without hesitation.
The night was young. The music was sweet. And somewhere between one step and the next, he stopped being afraid of falling and simply let himself fall.