Somewhere around the third row of embroidery—a simple trailing vine along the cuffs—I prick my finger. A bright bead of blood wells up. I stare at it for a moment, heart stuttering, because suddenly it feels like more than just a little mistake. It feels like something binding.
“Guess you’re well and truly mine now,” I whisper to the fabric, pressing the tiny smear into the seam like a secret. “And he’s well and truly mine too, whether he knows it or not.”
Later, I press the finished shirt to my cheek. It smells faintly of the lavender I tucked into my sewing box—warm, calming, like dreams of long naps together on the orchard porch. I close my eyes and let myself picture it clearly: Thornak standing under the lanterns, shoulders so broad in this new shirt that the seams will strain just a bit, eyes all dark and nervous and hopeful as he watches me walk toward him.
Stars above, it’s enough to make me dizzy.
The next day, I sneak out into the orchard just after dawn. The grass is wet and sparkles with frost, each blade tipped in tiny diamonds. I wander row by row, checking the little hooks I’ve hammered into low branches for the lanterns. Each one’s got a faint spell tied to it—nothing fancy, just a simple warming charm so they’ll glow gentle and bright even if a cold wind kicks up.
At one point I stop and just stand there, breath puffing in little clouds. The orchard’s so quiet. A robin flutters by, landingon a branch overhead, tilting its head like it’s trying to figure me out.
“I’m getting married here,” I tell it, because why not. “Right here, to the best, grumpiest man I’ve ever known. And I’m terrified, because I want it more than anything. But also? I’ve never felt so sure about something in my entire life.”
The bird chirps once—decidedly unimpressed—and flits off. I laugh, shaking my head.
When I wander back up toward the bakery, Liora’s waiting on the porch, a mug of cider in each hand. She hands me one with a little smirk. “Your face is all flushed. Been daydreaming about your future husband again, haven’t you?”
“Maybe,” I admit, ducking my head, though it doesn’t stop the grin.
She loops her arm through mine, steering me inside. “Good. Because Maddie Quinn, if anyone deserves to glow like a lantern from the inside out, it’s you.”
And that’s what I hold onto. Through all the nerves that bubble up every time I glance at the growing pile of little wedding things—bundles of herbs for the tables, tiny wreaths for the chairs, jars of caramel to drizzle over everything—I keep Thornak’s face in my mind. That hesitant, overwhelmed way he looks at me now, like he can’t quite believe he’s allowed to want this.
I plan to spend the rest of my life convincing him he is.
CHAPTER 26
THORNAK
The orchard’s hushed in that near-winter way, bracing for the first proper frost. A low mist clings to the ground, curling around my boots in cool fingers as I step off the path. The sun’s just started to claw up over the hills, but it’s still lazy, sending out weak, thin rays that cut through the branches in pale gold streaks.
I stand there for a moment, pulling in a long breath, tasting the damp and the faint tang of fallen apples going soft on the ground. Maddie’s been out here all week, bustling between the trees with little baskets of cloves and dried oranges, stringing up lanterns that twitch and bob with their tiny spells. It smells more like her orchard than ever—sweet, a little spiced, entirely alive.
And it makes my chest twist, hard enough I have to rub at the ache. Because in all my years living alongside these woods, carving them into everything from cottages to cradles, I never once imagined I’d be standing here with a heart full up of something this bright.
I follow the trail she’s worn through the grass till I spot her. Maddie’s kneeling by one of the big old oaks, fussing with a bundle of cinnamon sticks and tiny pinecones tied up in twine. Her breath puffs out little white ghosts as she mutters under herbreath, lashes fanned low over her cheeks. I stand there like a stone idiot for a solid minute just watching her.
Then she looks up. Her whole face lights, warm and startled all at once, like she’s just spotted the sun peeking over a hill.
“Thornak,” she breathes, pushing to her feet and brushing bits of bark off her skirts. “Didn’t expect you so early. I was just—well, obviously—overthinking centerpiece bundles. Again.”
I grunt, shifting from foot to foot, hands digging into my pockets. “Was hoping I might steal you a while.”
Her smile goes soft. “You never have to steal me. I’m yours outright, remember?”
That does something to my ribs—makes them tighten, then loosen all in one painful sweep. “Still... might be best if we walk a little. Away from the fuss.”
She loops her arm through mine without hesitation, leaning close enough I catch the scent of honey and cloves tangled in her hair. We walk in silence for a bit, past rows of nearly naked trees, down to a quieter corner of the orchard where the grass grows thick underfoot. It’s peaceful here—like the whole world’s paused to listen.
I clear my throat, which comes out more like a gravelly cough. “Been workin’ on something.”
“Oh?” Her eyes are bright, curious, hopeful in a way that nearly undoes me.
I reach into my pocket and pull it out—a pendant, small enough to curl in my palm, carved from a knot of maple I’d set aside months ago because I thought it was too pretty to burn. It’s simple, but honest: a tiny pumpkin, vines curling delicate around it, framing a heart right at the center. I smoothed it till it shone, ran a little leather cord through the top.
When I open my hand, her breath hitches.
“Thornak…” she whispers, lifting her fingers to hover just above it. “It’s beautiful. You made this—for me?”
