Page 27

Too quiet in Celestial Pines always meant someone was plotting something charming and ridiculous.

Her suspicion turned to certainty the moment the door jingled open and Rollo walked in.

He ducked slightly out of habit—he always did, even though the doorframe was wide enough—and carried with him that ever-present mix of pine bark and cinnamon. His flannel sleeves were rolled up, revealing the faint glimmer of the protective glyphs on his forearms.

“Morning,” he rumbled, warm and casual.

Wren, seated by the fire with her tea, barely looked up from her crochet. “You headed to the market?”

“Figured I’d stop by,” Rollo said. “Thought you might need something. I can pick it up while I’m out.”

Wren grinned and sipped her tea like she’d been waiting all morning for this.

“Oh, there’s sure to besomething, but my list’s in Delilah’s head,” she said sweetly. “You’ll take her with you, won’t you?”

Delilah turned slowly. “Excuse me?”

“You’re already halfway dressed for town,” Wren said, not blinking. “Besides, I don’t trust you to remember the difference between star thistle and crow root when they’re bundled together.”

Rollo looked toward Delilah, lips tugging with amusement. “I can carry the baskets.”

She crossed her arms. “Iamperfectly capable of shopping on my own, you know.”

“Then you’ll have no trouble showing me how it’s done,” he said, his eyes glinting.

Wren coughed—suspiciously close to a laugh.

Delilah narrowed her gaze as she walked over to her grandmother to grab her basket. “You planned this.”

Wren sipped her tea. “I’m old and wise and very tired. Humor me.”

The Everglen Market spilled across the clearing like a bouquet of chaos—woven tents, floating herb stands, charm weavers hawking their wares, and kids darting between aisles with paper cones of candied violets. The sun was high and honey-warm, and the scent of woodsmoke mingled with fresh bread and sweetroot cider.

Delilah tried not to notice how naturally she and Rollo fell into rhythm—how their pace matched, how his fingers brushed hers when he steadied the basket without asking.

They moved through the crowd, checking stalls for ginger root, dried moonflower petals, and a specific violet-dusted candle Wren swore improved dream clarity.

She was just starting to relax when they turned a corner and walked straight into chaos.

A small booth run by the Nettle twins—a pair of mischievous witch siblings barely out of apprenticeship—had a crooked chalkboard sign that read:

“Try Our Lovers’ Knot Enchantment! Guaranteed to Strengthen Any Bond!”

Delilah froze mid-step. “Oh no,” she said under her breath. “Absolutely not.”

But Rollo had already turned toward the commotion, eyes catching on a pair of teens shuffling past, hands stuck palm-to-palm by a glowing gold thread and laughing awkwardly.

“Let me guess,” he said. “Charm gone rogue?”

Delilah narrowed her eyes at the nearest twin—likely Fenny, who had a history of charming frogs into people’s teapots.

“Don’t touchanything,” she hissed.

Rollo lifted his hands in surrender—but stepped too close to the edge of the tent.

That was all it took.

A leftover thread from one of the display charms uncoiled from the top of the booth and snapped to life, zooming through the air like itrecognizedthem.