Chapter 16 #2
We reached a stand of pines marked with orange tape. The forester in me clocked the signs automatically—the thinning needles, the fungus at the roots, the slight lean toward the path where tourists loved to wander in summer.
“They’re beautiful,” Liora said softly, laying a hand on one of the trunks. “But sad.”
“Aye,” I said. “They’re done. Might take a year or two, but the next big storm will finish the job if we don’t. Better to bring them down controlled than let the wind do it.”
She nodded, serious now. “Like letting go of something before it falls on your head.”
I huffed a laugh. “Something like that.” I put my chainsaw down to assess the situation.
I didn’t have to take them all down, just the worst one, and hopefully the others would stand a chance.
Gesturing Liora over, I showed her what I’d be doing—where I’d cut, how the tree would fall, and where she needed to stand to be safe.
“I mean it,” I said, catching her gaze. “If I tell you to move, you move. No arguing, no questions. You go where I point and you stay there. Aye?”
“Aye,” she said, sobering. “No heroics. I promise.”
Bracken chittered sharply at her shoulder.
“He understands to stay clear.”
I started the saw, the familiar roar vibrating through my bones, and fell into the rhythm I knew best. Woodchips flew, sharp and resin-scented. The tree shuddered, groaned, then began its slow, inevitable fall.
I stepped back, guiding it with the cut, heart steady.
It hit the ground with a heavy thud that echoed through my ribs.
When I turned, Liora stood exactly where I’d put her, eyes huge, mouth hanging open.
“That was…” She shook her head. “Weirdly hot.”
My mouth twitched. “It’s just tree work, lass.”
“Aye, but you’re so competent,” she said earnestly. “It does things to me.”
Heat shot straight to my gut. “Don’t say things like that while I’m holding power tools.”
She laughed, delighted, and moved in to help me limb the branches once I killed the saw.
She wasn’t very efficient—kept stopping to talk to the trees, or apologize to them, or inspect a patch of moss as if it held the secrets of the universe—but she was willing, and she listened when I corrected her grip or her stance.
At one point, I glanced up to find her standing with her hands on her hips, breath puffing in white clouds, hair escaping her braid, Bracken perched on the felled trunk beside her like a foreman.
The sunlight slanted through the trees, catching the copper strands in her hair, the curve of her smile.
Something inside me settled with a click.
This. This was what I wanted.
Not just the kisses. Not just the nights. This—her in my world, my house, hell, my life.
She caught me staring. “What?”
The truth spell punched my shoulder and I sighed. “Everything.”
Her gaze softened. “You okay?”
I set down the branch I was stripping. “Aye. Just … glad you’re here.”
Her smile then was small and staggering. “Me too.”
We’d had small moments like that all week, and each one seemed to dig deeper into my heart.
That night we stood outside after dark, looking out over the loch. The unicorn hadn’t shown itself again, but every time I glanced at the tree line, I half expected to see a flash of white.
“You think it’ll come back?” she asked quietly.
“I hope so,” I admitted.
She slipped her hand into mine. “It felt like … approval.”
“Aye,” I said. “Like it was saying we’re on the right track.”
“Us?” she asked, glancing up.
“This place,” I said quickly. “The village. The Order.”
The truth spell warmed against my tongue. “And maybe us, aye.”
She squeezed my fingers and went inside.
Later, I found her sitting cross-legged on the rug in front of the fire, her gran’s brooch in her palm. The opal glittered softly in the firelight.
“You all right?” I asked, dropping down beside her.
She nodded, eyes on the brooch. “Just … trying to feel into what’s next.”
I looked at the tiny brooch and up at the tense line on her forehead. There were challenges yet to come. Trials she hadn’t faced.
The thought made my shoulders tense.
“Whatever it is,” I said, “we’ll handle it.”
She glanced at me. “We?”
“Aye.”
She studied my face for a long moment, as if testing the shape of that word.
Then she leaned into me, resting her head on my shoulder.
“You know,” she said softly, “for a man who likes trees more than people, you’re very good at this whole relationship thing.”
I snorted. “Don’t tell anyone. I’ll lose my reputation.”
She laughed, the sound soft and content, and turned her face into my neck.
When I’d been with Avery, I’d never felt she was happy with our relationship. That whatever I did or said had never been enough. And yet, Liora had just given me words I’d never expected to hear.
I wrapped an arm around her, breathing in the scent of her shampoo and something that was becoming like home to me.
Nearly two weeks ago, my life had been quiet. Predictable. Fine.
Now I had a witch in my arms, a squirrel in my curtains, a unicorn at the forest edge, and a brooch on my coffee table that, apparently, was magick.
And I’d never felt more certain of anything than I did of this simple truth …
I didn’t want any of it without her.